


Te Amo

by LiotusWrites



Series: Amore E Morte [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, Tragedy, Updated to loosely follow canon, Violence, sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiotusWrites/pseuds/LiotusWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of the Queen deals a heavy blow on the King and his son, and Cor finally grows tired standing by and watching it consume him.</p><p>(A small prelude to the Causa Mortis universe - no need to read it after this one though.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

It was hard to remember a time when everything was silent, where everything just came to a sudden halt in one single place in time. Perhaps the addition of a grey cloud and rain would have been more suitable for the occasion. A bright sun and sky isn't fitting for a funeral, especially not the Queen's funeral.

But what use was there in cursing the sky anymore. The Goddess never truly listens.

Every single seat in the church was full. From the mayors of the smaller districts of Insomnia to the many members of the Kingsglaive, all stood solemnly as the last of the eulogies were given. Only one or two people somewhere in the sea of silent bodies began to weep. Cor sighs as he shifts his gaze to Regis sitting on the front pew; his dead eyes stare straight at the casket that now carries his world.

Flowers surrounded it in a beautiful array extending outwards into the sides of the church, and blue silk lay underneath, only just reaching the end of the isle. The sigil of the Caelum's was branded onto the polished black wood as if it weren't clear enough who everyone was here for. In front of the church was a marble statue of the goddess herself looking down on them all. Only a single photo of her sat upon a separate stand beside the casket. A discreet photo of her after her marriage to Regis. She was smiling.

The time finally comes. And the word is given.

Seven others begin to make their way to the front of the church, most of them relatives Cor doesn't recognise or has never met before. Regis remains seated, staring blankly ahead taking no note of what was happening. Cor immediately clears his throat and steps away from the line of guards at the side of the church, so many eyes suddenly follow him as if just moving out of place was sheer sacrilege. He couldn't have cared less.

Cor quickly placed a hand on the King's shoulder, squeezing it tight to get his attention. It takes Regis a few moments to raise his head and reconnect with the rest of the world. He sees Cor and then only nods, touching his hand in return. The black band of the Lucii ring bites Cor's skin like a silent warning before Regis swiftly stands up, straightens his blazer and moving to follow suit. Cor steps back to his position.

With Regis finally in place beside the other pallbearers, they all reach down to grab the brass handles ready to lift the coffin at the King's command. Regis just looked at them all, uninterested yet pensive. He takes his time to think about something, brow knitting as he struggles with himself before he suddenly gets down to one knee. He remains like that for a few agonising heartbeats until his intent is made clear. His hand meets the hard surface of the coffin, more of a caress than a touch.

He then leans forward and gives her their final kiss. “Farewell.”

Cor immediately closes his eyes and swallows the hard lump in his throat.

He has relived that day many times. If only he had skipped that shower, left a day early, drove faster down the highway, or even had called in sooner. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have to feel utter shame bone deep. Cor had not been quick enough to return to the palace that night, his men, the guards, the glaive - nobody could have stopped the serpent from taking the Queen's life and leaving the heir of Lucis at the mercy of the Goddess. It's a terrible failure he had been forced to live with.

That night, Regis had looked at him when he walked into the foyer amidst the chaos of physicians, nurses, attendants and serving hands. Blame, anger, confusion, sorrow - whatever it was the King had in his eyes Cor just couldn't be certain. But one thing had been sure; hollow brown eyes haunted his dreams for days after.

_"I'm sorry," was something he should have said._

He hears the shift of clothing and the echo of elegant shoes against polished white marble, and Cor looks back into the present. Nothing good will come wishing he could switch places with her. And as he watches Regis and the others carry the coffin on their shoulders slowly down the black isle, he curses no one but himself. Cor knew he had no right to wallow in guilt.

Regis lost a Queen, a wife, friend and...soul mate. His son lay in a coma, and he may not even wake up to know what he lost.

The procession reached the end of the journey at the entrance of the church, and it will be the last time anyone will ever see her again. The priestess stands at the front of the procession, and as they wait two guards push open the large double doors of the church. Everyone raises an arm to shield themselves from the sudden bright light that engulfs the church, and with a deep breath, they carry the queen into the warm embrace of the sun.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'D
> 
> 11/10/16: Chapter 2 edited in preparation for the oncoming story. It's mainly the naughty bits that have been extended.

 

“Strike fast, strike hard. Go!” Cor barks. Commanding the small group of new recruits.

Everyone tackled their partners holding a fake gun against them. Their grips were swift, and the take-down even quicker. Not a single mistake made as bodies hit the floor in a headlock, plastic guns went skidding across the floor in their wake.

Perfect. For once Cor was impressed.

He nods, "Good." He suddenly paces up and down the training room, eyeing each and every one of the soldiers like a lion watches prey. Not one wavers in their restraining hold, sweats break out, and breathing becomes heavy the longer Cor deliberately paces up and down the line, waiting for one of them to break under pressure.

They don't let go, not until he tells them. Good.

“Release. We're done for the day, warm down and clean yourselves up. You've earned an early finish.”

With a few sighs of absolute relief, the recruits let go of their partners and took their time to run through a few cool down stretches on the padded mats of the spacious training room. Cor was rather pleased, this years bunch was looking very promising. When Clarus had promised him the best of the best he certainly delivered, although there were only six lots of fresh blood for the royal guard, and one potential new Glaive, it was a vast improvement over the pathetic group of fifteen he tutored last year. Not a single person from that group had passed their final grading.

Training the new blood had been a useful distraction thus far. And the swordsman stays a while longer when he sees two of them approach him, asking about whatever was on their mind. The dojo is empty by the time Cor leaves. Already having tended to a few of the students concerns and ensuring the place was tidy and secure.

It's raining outside, and the passing breeze was a gentle and pleasant one. Cor takes his time to admire the clouds.

Burying himself in his duties had helped him and everyone else for a while after the tragic accident. But his shoulders are still woven tightly; thoughts and worry still slip in the quietest of moments. Things were difficult after Mrs Caelum's funeral but got even worse with the crown Prince Noctis.

No one knows if the little Prince will ever wake up again. All the physicians of the world Regis had dragged here could only tell him the same thing; there is nothing they can do to wake him. Nobody could do anything while the boy would scream into the night, scream until his throat was raw and his voice broke. He would cry for his father, his mother - anyone, as he lived a hellish nightmare. In the night, Regis always held his small hand burning with fever as the boy thrashed. A few times tears would pour down his face as he watched his son walk through the agony of sleep.

Regis had to suffer through it all. Wife and son both taken in one fell swoop, and he bore that burden every day.

For the moment, Cor closes his eyes and breathes out.

Regis would not leave until Noctis finally settled down into silence. Sometimes Regis never even slept. There was nothing he could do, nothing anybody could do to protect against the pain. Cor couldn't help but feel his chest tighten every time his King would stagger past him, barely able to keep himself awake. But they would always pass each other in the vast halls of the palace without a word, only a silent determination to keep going for everyone's sake. 

As Cor approached the rear courtyard of the main palace, he looked up at the largest window overlooking the gardens and the village live-in staff resided at. The King's study was shrouded in darkness with curtains drawn right across the window. Dark, dead and empty once more. Those curtains haven't parted since the funeral; the bright light hurt the King's eyes more intensely when he barely slept.

With a clenched fist, he strides off towards the palace intent on continuing forward, whatever it took. When he arrives, the routine continues.

He has afternoon tea in the staff lounge, then freshens up to oversee the swap of security staff from day to night. He inadvertently took up the mantle of Head of House, ensuring the smooth transition, and general welfare of the other household staff before they left for the night; cooks, attendants, maids, cleaners, butlers all of their movements were now his responsibility.

The former Head was rather suddenly admitted into the hospital - it was there she recognised it was time to retire from her position, although she was much loved her retirement could not have come at an even worse moment. It would be weeks before they could sort through candidates, conduct interviews and go through security checks before someone suitable was selected. Regis himself had to have the final say in who would be dealing with his staff.

It was too much to do in so little time - Regis was in no state to be bothered with such a thing so soon. Cor could already hear that conversation play out in his head; _“It can wait.”_

Well, it was an extra workload he gladly hauled onto his shoulders for the time being.

It was a long and tedious process, running back and forth ensuring the night shift guards, maids, nurses and on sight physicians were all signed in by the time the others had left for home. The work schedule for the next week was reviewed, and concerns were addressed and recorded for the next person to fix. Throughout the afternoon the atmosphere was sombre, the rain kept pouring, and nobody seemed to smile nor be in a talkative mood - the afternoon dragged on hour by hour.

The usual liveliness of the palace was all but gone as the evening staff braced themselves for a very long night. Not even Clarus had it in him to engage in small talk as he normally does. Cor had been oddly disappointed by that.

With everyone settled in his list of priorities finally ended. It must have been a busier day than normal, or perhaps the mental strain had finally caught up with him because the next thing Cor knew was that his neck hurt. He opens his eyes, and his head is resting on a pile of papers in one of the many security rooms. His heart nearly skips a beat. He shoots straight up, frantically checks his phone, the computer, the security cameras and radio chatter of the Guardsmen on patrol. Desperate to catch up as quick as he can.

But everything was fine. Nothing was amiss - nobody died.

Cor leans back on the chair, hands idly resting on the desk as he takes in a few deep breaths.

Everything was...fine.

As best he can, he roughly sorts the papers and clears the messy desk, switching off the computer and locking the door he ends his work for the night. Cor strides down the decorated Lucian halls letting filtered moonlight guide his path as it streams through the windows and illuminates the darker, more mysterious corners. A shower and a soft bed were all he can hope for this late at night, and tomorrow would be much the same.

As if on queue like a clock striking midnight - the screaming starts. The echoes travel far and resonate along the walls like a chilling howl from a dying animal; there was something about the boys screaming that forces him to stand completely still as if giving a moment silence to a comrade dead on the battlefield. The worried calls of the attendants soon follow, and they suddenly come into view behind him. Two nurses rush past as they race towards the young prince's room, Cor sighs and continues forward.

There was a sudden echo of fine shoes clicking against the floor.

Cor lifted his head and immediately stared straight ahead, rooted right where he stood he waited for the familiar sound to come closer. King Regis slowly walked as if the cries were nothing to his ear; with his head held high and a slight limp in his step. It was a sight Cor couldn't quite get used to, but he waits every second for Regis to pass him. The King takes a brief pause beside Cor in the middle of the hall.

“It started much later this time around.” said Cor as he lowers his gaze to the ground.

Regis grunted in agreement - seemingly uninterested. And yet he doesn't move.

“He will wake soon.” Was all Cor could think to banish the silence between them.

And without another sound, Regis walks towards the screams with his coat trailing gracefully behind him. Cor follows without a second thought, catching up to walk at his King's side. Regis turns the bend and continues forwards until a large set of open doors greeted him, there was a lot of light and hushed speaking as the prince continued to howl.

Regis entered his son's room, and Cor remained outside, leaning against the wall as he patiently waited.

The screams instantly die down to a whimper when Regis sat beside his son; he gently held the little boy's hand tightly. Soft words of comfort were whispered to Noctis, and Regis gently stroked his small head. The boy panted and gripped his father's hand like a lifeline as if realising he was no longer at the mercy of the horrible things in his sleep. Noctis finally fell silent, his breathing slowed down to a soft snore as his nightmares finally left him, and Regis sat there holding him for a little while longer. The physicians checked his pulse, checked his heartbeat and temperature, the nurses and maids smoothed out his blankets and wiped the child's sweaty forehead as he came down from his fever.

As Regis sits, he wonders if he'll ever see those little eyes look at him again.

Gently, he lets him go, smoothes out his ruffled hair and leaves by himself.

Outside in the cold and lonely hall, Cor immediately looks up when Regis emerges. The King looks away but doesn't move any further. Was it the heavy bags under his eyes, or the helplessness he doesn't wish the other to see? With a shaky hand, he reaches out and rests it on Cor's shoulder. Cor holds his hand in return and grips it gently; he's nearly as cold as the ring on his finger.

And then Regis pulls away, quickly disappearing into the halls.

It's like this most nights, Regis staying awake to comfort his son until he stops screaming, and as much as Regis tries to avoid his gaze Cor knows what he hides. The King is exhausted and as dead as the day of the funeral, caring for his son in the black of night is just a part of his routine now.

He stands there listening to those in the bedroom monitor the sleeping prince. He then looks to where he last saw Regis; nobody ever accomplished anything by wishing. The past can't change. But standing idle won't do anyone any favours.

He pushed his guilt aside and went after the King.

~~~

Cor remains a few steps away from the doors to the King's study. They sit slightly ajar with soft light filtering through like a small beacon in the dark hallway. It's only been a few seconds, but his heart picks up a quicker pace, pounding furiously against his chest, who knows what he will face when he pushes through those doors. He takes a sharp breath through his nose, and heads towards it - nothing should get in the way of his duties, not even his feelings. Squaring his shoulders, he firmly knocks.

From beyond Regis says, “Enter.”

Stepping in Cor blinks a few times to take in the dim light. The study is warm and clean, save for a few papers scattered across the central mahogany desk. In front of the desk was a low set glass coffee table, two long couches were set at either side and facing one another. Tall bookshelves line the entire side walls and are filled with all sorts of text the King may never even have a chance to read. The window behind the King's desk was large and broad covering the entire rear wall, and surprisingly the curtains are drawn all the way back. Somehow tonight even the moon was at the King's command as it shines high and bright for him. The small lamp paled in comparison, holding nothing against the moon.

There leaning against the desk and facing the light was Regis, looking every bit the King he is.

Cor stops in between two smaller chairs facing the King's desk; he had no intent to sit down. A few heartbeats pass in the silence before Regis turns his attention to the man behind him. But his blank stare remained on the nearly empty glass of Bourbon in his hand. He reaches over for the glass bottle before he stops halfway. The bottle itself was small, but much to Cor's concern, it was already empty.

The swordsman quickly tries to get his attention and says the first thing on his mind. “How is Noctis doing?”

Regis pauses, studying the waning amount of amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. He gives the liquid a swirl.

“How do you think he is fairing?” The King's voice seems somehow deeper, gravelled and exhausted than it normally was. It was probably from the drink in hand.

“He's sleeping again, for now.”

He slowly drinks the last of his Bourbon, “Yes.”

“Don't tell me you finished that whole thing tonight?” He confronts.

Regis doesn't respond.

Cor snaps, “You should rest, you haven't been yourself since th-”

The accident, the Queen, the funeral. It's much too soon. He quickly trails off before he can allow himself to say it.

The King's dark and bloodshot eyes instantly look up, “The _accident,_ correct?”

The swordsman remains silent. Breathing out deeply, letting frustration seep out of his tired bones; words of comfort were never his strong suit. A few drinks typically made Regis direct with his words, and Cor was beginning to see less point in remaining if that were the case.

“Well, this was the longest conversation we've had in days...”

Regis sets his glass down, "You rise early. You should retire for the night."

"I could say the same for you," Cor presses. He folds his arms and remains in place, "I'll only leave when you do."

King Regis' brow raises at the slightest, but his shoulders drop in defeat. A shadow of a smile finds its way to his lips.

“So here we remain.”

Cor steps forward to speak, as he does so Regis moves his hand, and the glass takes a big tumble right off the edge of the desk. The shatter on the floor is loud and striking, rendering them both frozen for a split second as the shards scatter across the rug.

“Darn!” The King outright hisses and wrinkles his nose at the mess as if it were a huge offence.

He attempts to reach for the pieces, but a hand firmly stops his wrist before he even got close to the gleaming sharp edges. Regis nearly jolts at how close the other suddenly was, but Cor grips the King tightly.

“Leave it,” he looks the man in the eyes, intense and adamant, “It's not important.”

Regis just watches him. A hundred thoughts rush through Cor's mind, analysing and calculating and most of all hoping for only the best to come out of this. The King's wrist is cold, and Cor's warmth seared against the others smooth skin. They remain in a stalemate for a few moments longer, close together, connected yet conflicted, the swordsman grip was quick to waver. Cor hated seeing the King like this every single day. Hated even more that he must do nothing but watch, and somewhere deep inside the swordsman's chest was an ache so deep and terrible that he felt it right in his throat. He swallowed the lump and quickly looked away before Regis could catch the moment pass before his eyes.

The King suddenly touches his neck, firm yet gentle. Cor keeps his eyes fixed on the carpet, but his shoulders finally relax a fraction.

Regis says to him, “I'll take your word for it.”

And suddenly, he seizes Cor's forearm gripping like a vice and pulling him close, forcing the other to look at him with alarm. The King's umber eyes study him with scrutiny, and in such close range the hint of alcohol on the King's breath was nearly lost to Cor. Regis didn't keep him waiting long, he closes the distance and claims the swordsman's lips; heated and intense he presses hard. Cor sighs into the kiss, caught completely off guard by how soft the King felt and how eager he was being devoured. His breathing comes quick, and Cor's hands find his broad shoulders, pushing Regis away.

Cor is near breathless, "I-I shouldn't, you mustn't. I...can not."

“Do you wish to leave, Cor?”

Cor purses his lips, the hold he has on the King's shoulders only tighten. For years he never allowed himself ever to hope for something like this, not since Regis set eyes on the Queen for the first time. It was a cruelty even to ask; Regis was always beyond his reach and beyond his right to claim, it's a reality he has learned to live with. Being able to love him without a single touch had been enough.

But now?

“Regis, what I want is irrelevant.”

Confusion laces his brow. “Then what is to happen tonight?”

“Whatever it is you command.” It had to be a command, it was the only way he could try to rationalise the choice they were about to make.

Regis doesn't seem sure. "Does your consent mean nothing?"

Cor can see the pity in the King's eyes, but he faces it with defiance. Simply being in his command was enough for him. It would be just another order he'd gladly carry out. Cor slides his hand down Regis' arms and entwines his fingers with the King's, bringing his hand up and close to his chest.

His blue eyes rang with nothing but honesty. "I have never denied you anything, Regis. I never will."

Even though he was ageing quicker than most, the signs were still yet to show; Regis still had a lot of strength left in him. Fatherhood and maintaining the wall had not taken its toll, and that was apparent when Regis pushed the swordsman onto his desk with a loud thud, sending papers and pen holders carelessly flying over the edge.

“E-easy there!” Cor hissed as he regained his bearings, one arm pressed against the surface, the other wrapped around the King's neck. Regis shifts into position between the others legs, lavishing Cor's neck with attention and feeling the length of the others muscular thighs as they welcome him.

Cor was losing all control of his breathing; deep grunts were pulled right out of him as Regis pinned him down, pushed his jacket aside and sank his teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. The swordsman gasped, closes his eyes and tilts his head back leaving the shapely length of his neck vulnerable for the King.

“Please...” He begged, shivering beneath the scratch of Regis' stumble over his skin. The first of sweat making his forehead shine.

In the comfortable darkness, he feels the heat, the weight, the touches on his body, the familiar scent of the King mixed with Bourbon completely overwhelm his senses. Blood rushes between his legs as he begins to swell. He suddenly gasps, shaking when the King uses his teeth to mark the skin at the side of his neck in a heated frenzy. Moving up and down, and then suddenly inwards, this time gently over his Adam's apple that moves as Cor swallows his excitement. Blood rushes between his legs as he swells in response to the strong hand firmly rubbing.

It's happening. How was this not a dream? 

The King moves upwards, finding Cor's lips for a hungry kiss. The other welcomes it, lacing his fingers through Regis' soft and dark hair, earning himself a deep and content hum. Regis' lips are agonisingly soft against his own, his last memory of the feeling could never have done the real thing any justice. They remain locked together, arms embracing one another and feeding the lust that coursed through their bloodstream, starved and abandoned for much too long. Cor completely loses himself to the frenzy.

Regis pulls away much too soon.

No. It can't stop; he doesn't want Regis to stop - ever. On instinct, Cor follows the King's heat until he finds himself sitting up. Their eyes never break away from one another, and Regis looks at him with tousled locks and eyes glazed with pure need. It fuels the fierce hunger stirring within Cor's body.

The King's voice comes rough, "these things are in the way."

Regis' black coat finds the carpet, his vest, tie and dress shirt are quick to follow. Taking the queue Cor shrugs off his jacket and pulls the shirts over his head, but he takes his time to shamelessly admire the King. The man is solid as he always was, and he still had faint outlines of gorgeous muscles and old faded scars from back in the day when they were young and free. Cor reaches out and touches the man, letting his fingers move across his chest, over fine hairs and a firm dark nipple. He's so warm and beautiful and everything that's possibly good in this world.

“When you look at me in such a way, I cannot resist. Come here...” Regis touches his cheek, drawing him in for another kiss.

But it takes Cor asecond to feel the cold harsh bite of metal against his skin and the alarm is clear in his eyes. Their lips barely touch when Regis follows his blue stare to the black ring and stops short. Not a word passes between them, just quiet breathing. Without hesitation Regis suddenly pulls it off his finger and throws it in one of top drawers of his study. Only a pale strip marks the skin of his ring finger.

Cor begins to hesitate; this is a bad idea. What if someone heard them, or worse - caught them like this, it would be so easy for things to go wrong. So easy to fall into shame and disgrace if they hadn't already; the act itself was already a disrespect to the single soul that just passed. Can they handle it? No, they can't handle that fact. So what will happen in the morning when hard daylight shows what they have done?

“Cor, look at me,” says Regis, pressing their foreheads together, his warm breath grabs the Marshals attention. The King is so close and runs a reassuring hand up his neck. His warm brown eyes are deep and full of passion. They were eyes that Cor never knew Regis had, and his heart tightens with his captivated soul.

Regis gently whispers to him, “It is fine. I promise you.”

Cor swallows and nods, trusting him so utterly and completely. Regis then eases the man down onto his back. His hands run over Cor's firm stomach, following the curves and dips of his muscle until he reaches his broad chest. Cor bites his lip, the others hands are finally hot on his flesh, but he loves it - loves every second of Regis touching him like this. The swordsman's heart beats so hard he swears the King can feel the thump through his chest.

He can barely hold his voice back. “T-that feels-”

Closing his eyes, Cor swallows hard when he presses his knees against the King's hips, the throbbing builds unbearably between his legs. He grits his teeth and raises his hips, shamelessly finding friction to relieve himself of the maddening hunger.

Long and soft moans escape him, “Aaaah, oh.”

Regis watches and enjoys the sound and sight of Cor arching his back and moving against him with muscles tensing and flexing.

“Look at me.” The King orders.

Cor does so rather reluctantly, nervous to be looking Regis in the eye while performing such a lewd act. The King's erection becomes apparent through his tight trousers, and Cor can't help the soft pink that paints his cheeks and blooms across his chest. He breathes harder as he timidly grinds against it, and every move gives nothing but a sweet blissful reward. The pleasure begins to mount higher and higher, and Cor grinds harder and faster desperate to make the most of their clothed barrier. Regis holds him, rocking his hips against the Marshal.

He moans, “Cor.”

In a bold move, the swordsman goes straight for the Kings belt, sitting up to make quick work of the leather piece and loosening it from the gold buckle with a distinct clink. In a hurry, he rushes to loosen his own with clumsy fingers. But Regis is never too far behind to help; there's the sound of a zipper coming undone, a rustling of trousers pushed loose and boots being kicked off beneath laboured breathing.

It's a new feeling for him to touch and be touched like this. No barriers, no reserve. Just blind trust. Cor doesn't dare allow himself to dwell on it, so he drags Regis by the arms onto him, pressing their bodies together in a final chase to their peak.

Regis smiled, “it sure is warm in- Ah!”

The swordsman silences him, reaching down to stroke their erections together. His warm fingers travel up and down their hard lengths, squeezing and fondling their soft round weights beneath.

Regis breathed sensually into the others ear, “you have good hands.”

He then sneaks a kiss on his check, and Cor could feel him smiling.

The King rocks his hips forward, moving in and out of Cor's deft grip. Cor lets sounds of relief escape him as the King's need simultaneously rubs over his own. It's hot, heavy and sweaty as the pace comes faster and fluid drips onto his hand, making the sliding movements between their heated flesh all the easier. It's nearly too much, and Cor breathes a little deeper, his hips start to move on their own.

"This is wonderful."

Regis takes a very firm hold of the others waist and repositions himself. Cor is at a loss as he strokes his length idly, not quite understanding what Regis was about to do to him next. The warm haze covering their senses made it all so right, everything up until that moment made sense to them. His touch, his kiss, his promise, everything made sense - even the sudden pain Cor felt as Regis pushed inside him.

But blue eyes widened in shock. Have they ever gone this far before? A kiss; yes, a touch; perhaps, but never something like-

A strangled cry suddenly escapes him as the entirety of the King forces him open. Regis cursed and pushed forward, fighting against the searing hot resistance that engulfed his cock. Cor dug his nails right into his back, jaw going rigid as he held on for dear life and fighting against the urge to let his voice go. It was a feeling unlike any other, to be in such a vulnerable and near powerless position, completely at the mercy and will of the King. And for the first time, a real fear strikes through the Marshal as they fall into this unknown together. Nails dig deeper into Regis the further he pushes.

“Nngh!”

_Whatever it is you command._

The single thought goes through his mind; the pain must eventually pass. He was close - it would all be in vain if he turned back on his word now. The King's thrusts came hard and fast, and so does the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh with heated lust.

“Regis, st-op, I- don't think I c-can..”

“Relax, please.” Came Regis' plea. He grips Cor tightly with no intent of letting him escape.

Cor grimaced as he remained still trying to obey his King. So much was happening inside his body and his senses were going haywire. The connection between his legs was surreal. Who knew something like this could feel so strange, he's never felt so fragile before, and he marvels at how his insides begin to _clench_ onto Regis' girth. The stretch hurt and his entrance burned like fire, he bites his lip as he fights against his own powerful urge to dominate. But he holds on tightly, clawing at Regis as the man eagerly thrusts, slowly coaxing out the moans from his parched lips once more.

“Just keep breathing, Cor. Don't stop.” The King holds him close and tenderly kisses him all over, his lips, his cheek and his forehead. So close and so intimate they suddenly were. The fear within slowly begins to dissipate. Cor doesn't stop trusting him.

It isn't long before Regis is easily moving in and out of his body. And slowly the hunger returns, Cor begins to love the way he rocks his hips in that delicious rhythm. It's so intoxicating, so freeing and pleasurable. Each thrust makes him shiver right at the bone, and he wraps his legs around the Kings waist, bringing him close. The desk begins to creak beneath them, yet thankfully it remains strong as the King claims his Marshal.

“Harder, please...” Came his delirious moan in the midst.

Regis growls in fervour, and their bodies writhe in feverish unison, glistening beneath the moonlight. Bright lights began flaring in front of Cor's eyes, and for a second he catches the tenderness of Regis' umber - for a single moment, their hearts were in tune as they race closer to their peak.

It was a moment he'd silently keep to himself forever.

Regis gasps, breaking their trance with his hips moving with harsh and erratic thrusts, and Cor quivers in delight - he suddenly sees nothing but stars as an all-consuming wave of euphoria greets him at the peak.

"Re-gis!" He lets every sound escape him as all his cares in the world became nothing. Warm heat spills on his stomach, and his body goes slack with arms struggling to hold onto his partner. The King pulls out and grinds his member against Cor's. His fingers dig into the swordsman's thighs and Regis slowly reaches his orgasms, letting himself spill over the man beneath him with a soft gasp.

It was over.

As soon as it happened, it ended. All his senses suddenly faded away, the last thing Cor remembers is the warm sensation on his stomach and the weight of Regis over him. Neither can tell how long they remain together in this strange embrace until their breathing slowed down to a calming sigh.  
  


~~~~

  


Cor's head, legs and back ached like no tomorrow...amongst other things. But what bothered him most was a sudden burn on his cheek. His eyes closed tight, and he brought a hand up to spare himself the heat of the sun. He eventually rolled to his side, and it was then he noticed how hard the ground was, the only thing in between was a very shaggy rug just comfortable enough to snooze but far from the bed he was used to.

This isn't right.

His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes shot open.

He sees a huge window, curtains drawn letting in the full force of the morning sun. He sees a desk behind him, and chair pushed halfway across the room. He sees clothes, his clothes and Regis' thrown haphazardly on the ground.

_Last night they had-_

Cor immediately sits up. Regis lay asleep beside him with his back turned, trousers loosely hanging on his hips and shirt all but missing. Small marks decorated the mans neck, and the fine red lines running all over his back stood testimony to what was shared the night before. The Marshal dares to lean down and press his lips to the others bare shoulder. Regis looked nothing but peaceful in his slumber, and in truth Cor hasn't seen him look this serene in so long.

Cor lets out the breath he found himself holding, letting himself feel a small pang of happiness.

That meant last night was real. It happened, no doubt about it. But what now? Can they really look at each other and not remember? Can he speak to Regis again without remembering his voice in the throws of ecstasy? Or not inadvertently picture his body beneath his regal attire?

He has no choice; it can't affect him - plain and simple. Last night he made a decision to obey a command, nothing more. Hopefully, Regis had been sober enough to understand what it meant. And yet somehow that didn't sit well with Cor. When he awakes, perhaps they should speak about this and what it will now mean.

He begins to fix his trousers and pull his boots back on, and beside him Regis finally stirs as Cor finds his discarded shirt. The swordsman patiently waits for him. Regis groans out in pain, instantly moving away from the bright morning light. He pushes himself upright with his back to Cor.

"Shit..." He hears Regis hiss and rubs his temple.

"Good morning," Cor says.

Regis freezes in place, motionless for a good few seconds. Cor begins to feel the bottom of his stomach sink the longer Regis remained still. The King slowly looked over his shoulder, eyes filled with suspicion - upon seeing Cor, there was nothing but confusion.

“Cor?”

Cor can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he watches the once warm brown eyes scan him up and down critically. He knows Regis sees the red marks on his neck and what was exposed of his shoulder, Cor instinctively brings an arm across himself, trying to cover everything else.

"Why are you - ?" Regis stops to think for a moment, seriously trying to make sense of what he was seeing and where he was. He looks down at himself, slowly touching the marks left on his body, it was then that he notices something missing from his hand, and Regis stares long and hard at the pale strip on his ring finger. Before Cor could speak - he saw it, the King's brow tightening, his eyes slowly widen.

There it was as clear as day on his face. A startling revelation.

There's a sting in Cor's eyes, and his heart clenches tight. He had to leave. Now.

“I should go.”

The swordsman shoots to his feet, he swipes his jacket from the floor and makes his escape stepping right over the broken glass and making straight for the open door. There isn't a single sound behind him. Regis doesn't call his name. Regis doesn't get up to stop him. There was nothing but silence and the sun to see him out the door.

Regis is King. Cor is Marshal. It was painful, but this was how it should be.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am exhausted -

Cor looks down at the newspaper before him, trying to focus on the scrawl of black text over the thin white sheet. He drums his fingers on the table as he goes between reading and just thinking about everything that happened. It had been some days since he spent the night with Regis, and they haven't touched the topic since.

In fact, they haven't spoken at all. When morning came the night after, Regis had all but abandoned his throne. Refusing to speak or see anyone. He returns each night for Noctis' sake, but everyday he leaves for the unknown before anyone can stop him. Including Cor.

Cor takes a sip of the cup of black coffee beside him. It's strong and bitter, providing some relief from the fatigue he constantly feels nowadays. He does his best to understand what Regis is feeling and the position he has fallen into, the same went for the many occupants of the palace. Despite his responsibility, Regis didn't need to be pushed just yet - they can afford to wait a little while for him to recover. So the Marshal granted him space.

But it wasn't easy at all. The way Regis just looked at him that morning...that had been enough to shred his resolve to pieces.

Blue eyes flicker back to the articles in front of him. Numerous monster sightings along the countryside have been reported to patrol, citizens are anxious that the efforts of the hunters aren't enough. Odd. He keeps turning the pages until he stops dead - a large image of a procession leaving a church, the King at the head of the pallbearers, his eyes focused and looking away from the camera.

Oh, no.

He leans back and stretches his arms, taking a moment to run his attention anywhere else in the open lounge room. Looking at everything and absolutely anything. The palace staff lounge was open and spacious, there were only two or three others spread out at the numerous tables closest to the food and coffee bar, or at one of the many couches in front of the windows overlooking the city. It was private and peaceful at that time of afternoon. Although this particular lounge room was normally meant for low ranking workers, Cor rather preferred the space and solitude after a whole day of training the recruits at the barracks. The lounge meant for personnel like him was more luxurious, yet having eyes of the butlers watching and trying to predict his need was often irritating. He didn't need eyes on him, not right now.

With a sigh, he looks down and studies the image of the King carrying the Queens coffin. It was difficult for many to believe she was well and truly gone, now the papers were filled with discourse about the war and Niflheim. Commentators were calling for action, demanding bloody vengeance for the cruel death. The Council was only just staving the call to arms whilst keeping Regis' absence under wraps from the public. It seems nothing is going right for anyone.

He holds the coffee cup and takes a deliberately longer sip. The black liquid runs down his throat hot and almost scalding, Cor doesn't let up until he finishes it completely. He sets the cup down a little too hard on the glass table in front of him. Burning hot, searing, warm, smooth and slightly bitter...just like it had been that night. Just like those eyes in the morning.

Holding his head in his hands, he shuts off from the world for a moment in time.

Time. Time and Space, both, and a lot of it. Yes. Regis needs it, they both need it.

From a distance, heavy steps are quick to pick up his attention. They are long strides, firm, and purposeful rapidly approaching him from behind. Not a maid coming to collect stray cups and dishes. Not Regis either, but a man, a solider of some sort, large and heavy. Odd.

He picks up the cup to leave, but pauses as the man steps into view beside him.

“Captain Drautos?”

“Marshal.” The Captain respectfully bows his head at him. The Marshal is his superior in the ranks of military. Be that as it may, it's unusual for a man like him to be here in this sort of place. There was always a strong sense of hierarchy that existed in the palace that was always maintained, and yet here they both were at the same point in time. Titus momentarily observes his surroundings, seems he doesn't frequent this particular lounge as much as Cor.

Why was he here? Judging by the slight frown he wore it may not be something he wants to hear.

“You're not easy to find you Marshal, and yet here you are of all places.” He says.

“I prefer the space.”

Drautos doesn't sit, he stands firm in place. “Understandable.”

“Sit down, Captain.”

Drautos obeys his word and sits. The Captain is a rather large man, slightly taller than Cor himself and certainly more burly in stature. His face was marred with numerous scars and he bears the wear of life in the soft lines at the corner of his eyes. From what the Marshal can gather, Titus was fairly new to the palace, a newly appointed Captain of the Glaive regiment after the tragedy of Galahd. From the times he had spoken with Titus it was clear he was still adjusting to his new position and life. Torn between obeying his nature to be quite blunt with his words, and minding his position amongst all the other officials. Safe to say he learned Insomnia politics quickly.

He had an imposing presence, even sitting down. "What do you need me for, Captain?”

“A few things Marshal. Have you been able to get an audience with His Majesty as of late?”

Cor suddenly clenches the cup rather tightly.

_Regis..._

He doesn't miss how the Captain watches him like a hawk even if he was a mere stretch away. He shifts his focus to the city below, trying not to appear too thrown off by the question. “No, not at all.”

“The same as everyone else, I assume,” says Drautos with eyes downcast, he notices the newspaper on the table. Something passes through his expression so quickly Cor couldn't quite put a finger on it. Cor makes a point to close it and neatly fold it up, intent on leaving it on the table where it belonged.

The Marshal clears his throat. “It's something we must work through.”

The Captain nods, “The men are uneasy and the councilmen are talking. Surely you have a thing or two to say about the King's sudden absence?”

Things had been fine relatively speaking. Before the incident in his office Regis had been spotted here and there, floating around and doing his duties with no real desire to. That much was clear. He had been irritable, unmotivated and always tired, he may have missed a few things but he was never really completely gone and out of reach. That's all changed now. Cor holds the empty cup with both hands and squeezes. His guilt runs deep, and the bottom seemed much too small for him to crawl inside to just escape. “I am unsure what to think or feel about it anymore.”

Resting one arm on the table Drautos leans back.

“I see. It's been that way for a good few nights hasn't it?”

It takes the Marshal a moment to gather his thoughts together, blue eyes rapidly shooting up and fixing the Captain with a steely glare. The edge of a growl finds its way to Cor's voice. “What benefit is there in you questioning me on this?”

Drautos doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink. “I don't know how to approach this any other way, so I'll cut to the chase, Marshal. His Majesty was barely seeing anyone. If a request wasn't getting through then I had to do it myself. Perhaps it was a poor choice of hour on my part, but there was no mistake in what I heard...and saw, a few nights ago in His Majesty's study.”

The cup slips out of Cor's hands and gently thuds onto the table. Cor was absolutely speechless for a good few seconds. He swallows the lump in his throat desperately trying to process what he just heard.

No, he couldn't have.

The Marshal takes a sharp breath, regaining the fragment of panic. “It is not uncommon for Regis and I to speak about confidential matters in the late hours.”

Drautos slowly shakes his head, “Forgive me Marshal. Out of respect for the both of you, I don't wish to be anymore specific.”

Cor had half the mind to just get up and leave without another word. But he can't escape this time.

The Captain keeps going, “And yet how is it that after that evening, the King's condition has gone rapidly downhill? He's gotten worse, if anything.”

The Marshal couldn't look at him. He shuts his eyes to the world and runs a hand through his hair, stopping midway to grip at the short strands tightly. It never ends....it never ends...the torment, the doubts, the anger, the ache. Titus' words only drive the stinging barb deep. He's right. It's gotten worse. He never meant for this, it had meant to be just sex, something neither of them had clearly been ready for.

There is a blanket of silence between them, neither says anything. Cor finally opens his eyes, determined not to betray any more to the Captain. What did Drautos hope to gain? What did he want in return? Will he seize this opportunity and use it as leverage? The more he thinks, the more Cor begins to realise how dangerous the waters have just become.

“Why are you here?”

“It's not my place to involve myself or govern anyone's private affairs, but with all due respect to you and the King, neither of you had been discreet. It takes one person to spread word of a scandal that the crown can ill afford so soon after the funeral.”

Regis needed to be protected at all costs. He won't let it happen, not now. Not ever.

Cor bites back, “do you intend to be that one person?”

Drautos raised a brow, stunned. But he quietly stands up. “I hope that I haven't given you reason to believe I would be so callous. I simply needed to warn you. But you have my word and my silence.”

The Marshal pauses; somehow that logic made no sense at all. Cor didn't want to believe a single word.

“If that is all Captain, leave.”

“No hard feelings Marshal. I say this for your sake.” And with the final word Drautos departs, leaving Cor by himself at the couch wondering how he could possibly take back everything that ever happened.

~~~

Somehow Cor's feet manage to carry himself to his next order of business like a drone running on pure fuel alone, not really paying attention to anything around him.

He just walked until he found the Head of House's office and entered. Wondering why he still bothered to show up after being an hour late.

“Sir.” Greeted the young lady, instantly jumping up from her chair.

“Dion, I hope you haven't been waiting long.”

“Of course not sir.” She lied. Cor was over an hour late, yet she showed no sign of frustration at the fact. Dion was the former Head of House's supervisor, in charge of records and accounts. Making sure everyone got paid and worked their full allocated times and duties. She was a literal god send. Tall, blonde, lanky, hair done up in a neat bun and looking like she rolled a dice to help figure out what she wore to work. Terrible taste in fashion if Cor had to be honest. But she was a hard-working, patient, honest young lady, and that was all he could really ask for.

Cor took a seat at the desk and sighed. He was not ready to do any of the paperwork, not ready to speak to Dion for next few hours at all. Today was just not a good day to endure, not after the conversation with the Captain leaving him more unsettled than he would ever admit.

“Umm,” Dion gave a little shuffle forward on her seat, “we could always do this tomorrow. No rush!”

He contemplated saying no, but he told her to show him what it is that needed his attention.

“Just a few things that need your authority,” she said, pulling out a rather thick folder from her bag, “don't worry I have it all sorted and cleared, just sign where I tagged it.”

It was easy, Cor just scrawled the pen over the dotted lines one by one while she placed out each page down. Very much standard stuff; approving payments, approving leave, simple at first.

It was too effortless and it let his mind run on it's own.

What exactly did Drautos see? Which moment? What spoken words? The Marshal couldn't figure out why the Captain spoke to him; if he hadn't, such information would cause a scandal, Cor would more than likely be a target for gossip and maybe even a factor in the Queens death and the condition of Noctis. Perhaps. The King wouldn't come out of such a drama unscathed either, they would question him too; joint plot to be rid of the Queen? Manipulated into a sick affair? Allowing a man to sleep his way through the ranks? General shame of coupling with another man on principle? So much could have occurred yet Drautos chose to tell only him, it was all too puzzling.

Maybe with Cor in his palm, the Captain could potentially climb the hierarchy, his next milestone would be the title of General. Better pay, higher respect, more political and military power. But as long as Cor remains, the title of Marshal is beyond anyone's reach. Surely the Captain isn't so bold as to do such a thing so soon.

Yet Titus had given his word. Perhaps it truly was meant to be just one of warning.

Cor can certainly ensure it won't happen again. He can barely approach Regis nowadays, chances are that such moments may never happen again. In the end there's nothing he can do besides keep watch on the Captain and an ear to the whispers that go on inside the walls. If anything happens, he will face it when it arrives.

“Alright, now, we have to talk about what to do with these...” Dios disrupted his reverie and layed out a few more forms before him. The Marshal watched and listened as she spoke. Just a grievance between two gate-men, one maid fibbing about her work times and a butler injured by a loose cabinet. One by one they were dealt with, time passing by with each pen stroke and the lowering of the sun behind the horizon until nothing but the desk lamp kept things bright in the office. Dion knew at this point Cor never bothered to turn the proper lights on, he always felt sleepier with brighter stronger light.

But Cor found himself staring at the dim desklamp. Pale glistening skin under soft light, nails digging deep into flesh, a warm embrace followed by hard eyes and scalding hot coffee...

Finally after some time he said, “are we done?”

Trying yet failing to force the papers to line up in her plastic folder, she did her best to smile. “Yeah, we're done. Easy right, like a band aid, just yank it out.”

She laughed nervously. Cor figured he was being too transparent with his misery, and sent her on her merry way.

Once more, the hour was late, the moon was bright. But for now, the walls of the palace lay quiet.

Space and time, he thinks. The Marshal decides to walk a different way home, pass the kitchens and towards the rear garage and loading bays that lay clean and empty. The garage was huge, and the roof was high rise to allow trucks and service cars to discreetly deliver whatever it is the palace needed. Everything was organised here before it was taken inside. A few small offices towards the back twinkle with light for the late workers still going at it. But for the most part, the place was peaceful.

He leaves through the empty reception and out the glass doors, greeted by two guards as he walks down the wide set of stairs. It's a little chilly; his breath stirring up a hint of mist as he pulls his jacket a little tighter and buries his hands in his pockets. In the distance guards wonder on patrol; some at the vehicle checkpoint a ways away, some patrolling the empty carpark to the left. The night is lonely, yet so peaceful.

Halfway down the steps Cor slows his pace as a set of headlights appear at the checkpoint ahead. It picks up his attention quickly, no one should be driving here at this hour for anything. Cor stops and waits, irritated as the car is let through the checkpoint and makes its way towards the front. The Marshal had half the mind to have the gate watch reprimanded hadn't a sleek black car glided to a stop in front of the stairs.

It was the Regalia.

The driver seat door swings, revealing a black suited escort. A young woman with mahogany hair rather messily done up in a bun; she comes around and opens the passenger door. Regis steps out of the car and heads straight for the stairs without another look or word. Cor studied the young lady as she moved back into the car. He hasn't seen her before; must be fairly new, impressionable, easy to drag around at a moments notice with no questions asked. On any normal day it would be Cor escorting Regis to wherever he went. That was how it used to be.

“Regis...” he says quietly with a bow.

His eyes flicker up daring a look at the King, there must be something there worthwhile. But Regis is near unreadable, he kept his eyes ahead with no hesitation. It was as if the Marshal were never there at all.

When he is only one step away narrow grey eyes turn to him. “Marshal,” came his flat reply.

Cor looks down as Regis passes him, waiting there until he was safely inside and far from his reach. The bridge between them has well and truly burnt to ash.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xtra long, hueh.....

Regis burst into the foyer, enraged and anguished. He had his sword in one hand and blood on his other with nothing but vengeance in his eyes. Cor had been speaking to the palace guard, trying to piece together why everyone had been saying the Queen was dead. When he saw Regis, he knew in his heart that is was true.

“Regis!” he calls.

Cor knew nothing other than to try and console him, but he stopped. The fire in the King's eyes burned him in place as he fled down the stairs and stormed past him. He knew what the King was going to do, and it clicked by the time he was halfway down the driveway.

“Regis stop!” Cor caught up with him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Out of my way,” growled the King, pushing him aside with one sweeping arm.

“Do you intend to cross Lucis by foot? Stop this madness!”

Cor caught his arm and held it tight. 

“I need to avenge them! You mustn't stop me!”

It hurt to see him this way. Cor knew it, he shouldn't have been deployed elsewhere, he should have been with the convoy that took Noctis and his King back to Insomnia from Tenebrae. He should have stood where the Queen took her last breath, it shouldn't have been her that died that night. And now Regis has lost his sense, unable to have avenged the fallen while he still had a chance.

Cor suddenly let the King go, and Regis only made it a few more paces before he stopped.

“I couldn't defeat it. I was too weak, and now they are...”

Cor came up behind him, “No one is to blame, not you-”

Regis snatches a fist full of Cors shirt right by his neck, Cor had never seen him so angry. “If I can not avenge my family, what sort of man am I?!”

The Marshal held the King's eyes with his own; if only he could hold him with his arms too.

He gently whispers, “you are not to blame.”

Cor runs his hand along the Kings arm. The fire slowly calms to a low burn, but Regis doesn't let go of his hold.

Regis looks at him like he was crazy. “How can you say that?”

“You went to them, that is what matters. Neither will blame you in the afterlife.”

The King takes a sharp breath and closes his eyes, quivering in anguish. He's torn asunder, and his world has shifted right off its hinges. How can a King like him possibly deserve this fate, is the Goddess so cruel?

Regis is meagre, “I wish to believe you.”

Slowly, Cor holds his hand and ever so gently pries the grip on his shirt free. Regis willingly lets it go, he looks around the driveway of the palace lost and confused.

“Come back with me, go see your son.”

“But I...” Regis looks between Cor and the distance of the city.

“You will miss your chance at vengeance if you go into battle without a clear head. It can wait. I'll take you back there myself if it pleases you, but go to your son first.”

“My son is motherless because I could not protect her, I mustn't face him like this.”

Cor squeezes the King's hand, “then unburden yourself, for his sake.”

The King no longer had the strength to keep himself standing tall, he collapses to one knee, keeping himself balanced with his sword. The Marshal holds him and brings him back up to his feet, even if he has to drag his heavy weight up himself. Regis was shaking, but his shock gripped him like a vice more than grief did.

“I-I have you.” He was heavy, but nothing Cor couldn't handle

“Cor, what am I to think? What am I to do?” Regis buries his head against the Marshals shoulder.

Cor lets the King take comfort from him. If only he knew all the answers or all the right words Regis needed in that moment. The Marshal embraces him protectively as Regis grieves in his arms, his sword shatters into an array of blue dust, and they are silent as they hold one another.

  
  


~~~ PRESENT ~~

Much like before, Cor doesn't see Regis again. Days pass once more, some quick, some much too slow for comfort. But the routine continues as the world inside the palace keeps spinning even without the King on his throne. As for his last meeting with the Captain, Cor is yet to hear anything too concerning. Titus was true to his word so far, and for now Cor could safely shift his focus once more.

The Marshal leans against the coloured glass of the upper floor that looked over the carpark of the loading bay. It was at this terribly early hour that Regis would leave the palace to visit the grave. The Regalia would pull up at the exact moment he emerges from behind the doors, stopping at the foot of the stairs. The same escort guard would open the door for him and take him beyond the gates, and away from all that needed him. Cor rests his head against the glass and watches; ensuring the Kings safe trip down the stairs with a heavy heart and tired eyes. Just being able to see him for a few seconds in the morning brought him both heartache and relief.

It looked so easy for him to just up and leave everything behind, ignore responsibility and push aside the demands of his royal seat to grieve until the late hours of the night. It was foolish. Yet Cor can do nothing but watch the Regalia pull out of the checkpoint and disappear.

Time and space is what he needs; he thinks to himself, turning his back to the window and the rising sun.

~~~

Frustrated most of the day, Cor keeps himself occupied with the training of his students. Progress is steady, but they have a long way to go before any of them are ready for final gradings. It's as much a source of stress for them as it is for him. And with Dion unable to come by in the evening, the paperwork only stacks up for tomorrow. Cor finds himself at an impasse when the evening suddenly rolls around. To call it an early night only to toss and turn in the sheets, or find something to do until the Regalia returns.

He let his instincts drive him; down the corridors, past a few patrol guards and through sets of decorated lucian doors. Before he knew it, he took himself to the only place that truly brought him some comfort away from everything that went on in the outside. The long open space of the sparring halls. Although nothing compared to the grand arenas afforded to the army barracks, or even the Glaive, it was a decent open hall with firm mats, a well stocked weapons rack and a connecting gym and locker room, it was all that the palace guard really needed to keep fresh.

The lights to the sparring room were always on and accessible no matter the hour. So the Marshal grabs a fresh towel from the neat stack, removes his jacket and grabs a sturdy sparring sword. A hard wooden weapon with it's blade edge dulled.

If the King needed an escape, then maybe Cor did too.

He faces the abused training dummies. With feet planted firmly in position, he raises his sword in front and breathes in, focusing on the still object before him. He swings. It was leagues different to a real steel blade that cut through the wind with no weight or drag, but nothing was more satisfying than feeling the force of his strength just annihilate the dummy. He steps back, pretending to sheath his sword before suddenly quick drawing and leaving a brand new gash to the soft straw filled edges.

Thin pale coloured straw are slow to float through air and settle to the ground. And as Cor continues his lightning quick assault, more are set free. They fly through the air trailing after his rapidly swinging blade, back and forth and arcing gracefully as Cor works through the kata sets he knew so well.

But a world where the enemy is as still as a training implement doesn't exist.

No one was ever attacked by a straw ball attached to a post. And the Marshal gives the target a good hit out of pure frustration. Taking a step back, his heel catches a small crack on the wooden floor. He stumbles backwards and a sharp pain shoots up his leg.

“Ah, damnit!” He lets go of his sword and grips the injury.

He lost focus. Lost focus and hurt himself.

The pain was not completely overwhelming, nothing seemed broken or too strained. In fact this was nothing compared to what he felt elsewhere. Awful love ballads always spoke of a terrible ache that gripped the hopelessly lovesick, they acted as if they were stricken with a terrible and almost incurable insanity that only one other in the world can possibly cure. Cor never really took that sort shit seriously, but the pain faded from his ankle rather quickly, and an undeniable ache at the hollow spot in his heart grew stronger. A mocking echo.

How long can this keep going on, yearning for something he shouldn't?

The Marshal pushes himself back up, shaking his head free of everything. He snatches his sword, runs, and strikes so hard that a crack echoes off the walls. He keeps going, making new dents and tears at the object in a heated frenzy. This was not like him. Not him. He was a living weapon, sworn sword and shield of the King. A destiny of pure servitude was all that awaited him. A destiny he gladly learned to live and love. Anything to remain at _his_ side. It should have been enough.

Cor keeps going, losing all form in his step and control of his swings. The sword hits again and again, the impact of wood against fabric cracking loud and terrible. The harder he hits, the worse the ache. The weight in his arms suddenly double, and his muscles begin to burn. But it was the blade shattering in two pieces that finally made Cor step aside and just fall onto the soft mats, hot, sweaty and panting for relief. His heart pounded from his fury as he just lies there catching his breath and waiting. Sweat runs down his forehead and over his neck, his black singlet damp and uncomfortably stuck to his skin.

“Ugh...” He rolls onto his back, staring at the high ceiling while his body calms down from the exertion. His mind starts to ponder things a little more calmly.

Here he is now, in a sparring hall alone on a very late and lonely night. He was not in a good position. It was fairly easy to keep emotions separate from the daily grind, but nothing about the days past has been normal for him. It's different, he feels different, acts different. It's challenging not to think about what happened that night. Even more so with Regis unwilling to speak to him anymore.

His pain was so clear in his eyes. The urgency tangible when Regis pinned Cor to the desk and pushed into him. The bites, the kissing, his touch - desperate, hard, rough. The fine red lines on the King's back spoke of how they felt for a few short minutes. They truly had forgotten everything beyond just each other, looking into the others eyes and becoming one with passion and need. Cor wanted to feel that again. Wanted Regis to want him again like he did many years ago. He wants his touch, his words, his reassurance, he wants it all.

He finds his own hand starting to wonder south, ghosting over his hip and gently squeezing. Regis had grabbed onto him rather tightly, so Cor grips himself a little firmer. His body and mind both recalling that night with crystal clarity. The Marshal slips his other hand up and beneath his singlet wondering over his stomach and chest, just feeling the warmth of his own skin. Envisioning and wishing the King's own hand moving on him the exact same way it had been that night.

Regis' hand had been firm and calloused, a rough surface over his smooth and sensitive skin. Eliciting sparks and fire with just a single well placed stroke. Oh, but his lips had been better, on his neck, making him shake at how easily he trusted Regis to be in such a vulnerable area. Cor touches his neck, tracing where the three marks had once been. It was both good and bad that the bites Regis left behind had already faded, their presence as fleeting as the King's affection.

The Marshal takes a sharp breath and begins to move his hand back, travelling lower and slipping past the tight band of his trousers.

There's a huge relief when he grabs a hold of his erection, he knows he can finish this quickly if he focuses. Cor loosens his belt and frees his length with a sigh of relief. He moves his hand along his member, parting his legs for the sake of the memory and imaging _him_ there ontop. He gasps, moving his hand faster as his peak was already in sight barely moments into his activity. Long legs quiver and he grunts, his cock aching for release. He sighs and rests an arm on his forehead closing his eyes tight, it was shameful and he knew it well. To do such a lewd thing in such a public place, to reduce the image of his King to nothing but an object for pleasure. He couldn't be more disappointed in himself. But for now he just needed a moment, just one. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

Cor is quick to reach the crescendo. He moans out softly, toes curling in his boots and thrusting into his hand as he comes. His consciousness soars into the clouds, free of worry and care. A shame he couldn't stay like that for long as he is quickly drawn back to the hollow silence of the hall.

The warmth is gone, and so was Regis.

The sad rendition of an afterglow left Cor dizzy and empty. He stared at the roof; he knowns better than to believe in Regis' promise that everything would be alright. But down came the flood gates of the things his heart should not feel or even wish for. It makes him curl up on his side. If only he could seal away those feelings forever and live like he used to; one step behind the King with a sword at his hip, a place that none other could ever fill.

The door to the hall suddenly opens, followed by a heavy set of footsteps wandering quickly into the outer foyer. He knows who it is this time. In a panic Cor immediately sits up and snatches his towel nearby. His head spins a little at the quick motion, and the tingle he feels in his legs distracts him as he frantically cleans himself up. He stands up in decent condition by the time the unexpected visitor walks into the room.

“Marshal?” Came a familiar voice that completely rattled him. Captain Drautos certainly had the worst timing of anyone he ever knew. And the Marshal stands there, a little more than tense and on edge.

Cor was quick to fold the towel, he was dishevelled with his messy hair, loose trousers and damp singlet. It shouldn't raise too many questions, so he remains quiet. Drautos seems to carry the same tired demeanour, dressed down from his usual uniform to the simple underlays with his sword at his side. He takes a quick look around the room before letting his eyes rest on the Marshal.

“Have I...interrupted something?”

Cor freezes in place, desperately trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for whatever it is he may have seen yet again. But Drautos simply motions towards the broken sword on the ground, and Cor breathes a little easier. The man certainly had one hell of a poker face, nothing betrayed his thought or emotion and it made Cor a little unsteady not knowing.

“Very rarely does my restraint escape me,” Cor explains, “but why are you here at this hour, Captain?”

The Marshal picks up the two pieces of the blade, glad to be breaking eye contact.

“A question I should be asking you. Thought I might check out what could be making such a racket at this hour. No one is usually here.” 

A reasonable explanation, Cor thinks to himself.

Cor says, “I haven't had the time as of late to spar. It's a rare opportunity.”

“I don't wish to imagine it. Handling two jobs and the new recruits for the first few months. You can't function properly for long.”

How very blunt of him. Cor huffs, tossing the broken pieces - and towel - into the waste bin.

But Cor submits. “You're not wrong. The coffee starts talking for me at around three o'clock.”

Drautos actually has it in him to break that stern gaze of his to chuckle, “Impressive. I can barely last until one these days.”

The Captain takes a sudden interest in the weapons rack holding both bladed and blunt swords. He rests a hand over the longsword, testing his grip on the handle before deciding to pick up a blunt shortsword instead. He carefully tests the weight of it in each hand, and suddenly points the end right at the Marshal.

“Static dummies don't offer much challenge to anyone, less so the Immortal.”

Cor thinks for a long minute. Looking between the blade and the waiting Captain. His shoulders drop as he finally allows himself to relax. “Am I being propositioned?”

A ghost of a smile finds it's way at the corner of the Captain's lips.

Cor would be damned if he passed up a good natured spar with a new challenger, for that he still has some reserve left for a fight. However, it's the man holding the sword that makes him hesitate. The last interaction he had had with him was less than savoury, and he is still very unsure on why the Captain made his particular choice. But he was no Marshal if he didn't trust the men he worked with. And so far Drautos had done nothing to really inspire mistrust. He gave his word and kept it.

“The sharpened blade, if you don't mind.” He orders.

With a raised brow, Drautos picks up the much sharper shortsword and tosses it towards Cor. He may not mistrust him, but at the very least Cor was intent on showing the Captain his place.

They both knew the ritual. Start a few paces away from each other, bow, then draw.

The collision of blades was loud, and the force of the Captains strike sends alarm bells instantly ringing in Cor's head. He's quick, or maybe Cor was at his end, but Drautos kept him on his toes. His sword swung across with dangerous force again and again. To the left or right, each step Cor took Titus blocked, arcing his blade back across and cutting off any space he could make. The Marshal charged forward, and it was too easy for Drautos to raise his sword and smash it down against the other. The Captain didn't break a sweat. Cor can only parry his next assault until he reached the edge of the mats, he didn't even realised how close he was to the wall until he felt the concrete on his back. The Captain was smart to shepherd the Marshal into a corner.

Beads of sweat run down Cor's neck as he steps back, nothing but a wonderful thrill rushes through his bloodstream. He won't pass up the prospect of sparring against a swordsman with such hidden talent. It was a rush he hasn't felt in a long while, so he wipes his face clean. It's time he turned the tables.

Cor steps forward with a soft breath and Drautos barely sees him coming; with a light feathered step around, Cor attacks from all side moving quicker than the strike of a snake. The Captain had no time to shift his weight behind another hefty swing. And just like that, Cor is out of the trap and Drautos finds his back to the corner.

“I'm impressed,” Drautos manages to grunt. Cor suddenly hauls himself forward into the next sword collision and throws the Captain off balance, slamming him into the wall. 

"Backed against the wall. What will you do, Captain?” Cor said. He follows through with a strike from above, the Captain parries and lashes out making Cor back away a step. Drautos stays silent, refusing to bite. Instead, he grips his sword with both hands, plants his feet firmly on the ground, and swings the blade across. It should have been a rather foolish and desperate move, but Cor meets the hit, meaning to slap away his attack. But the sheer power behind it sent Cor reeling from the impact on his wrists. It takes a second for him to process it before the Captain swings again. The strength of his is nearly uncanny. Cor is forced back another step, the second swing bringing with it a sharp pain through his wrist.

Cor curses beneath his breath. Drautos, easily strolls away from the wall and back into the centre of the room as if it were a mere game to him. The Marshal puts some distance between them, and rubs away sweat collecting down his shoulder. Cor's fatigued arms strained to keep a hold of his sword; no matter the skill level, a tired swordsman was bound to make a dangerous mistake.

“That can't be all you can give me,” says Drautos

The Marshal brings his sword up once more. “We have only just begun.”

~~~

The bench was rather small for two men like themselves, but neither Drautos or Cor had any issue sitting beside one another, even if their shoulders touched. The Marshal hunched over and rested his elbows on his knees, breathing long and deep. His clothes were damp with sweat, and small stains of blood spread over his thigh. The Captain rested his back against the wall, not nearly as spent as Cor, but still red cheeked and dizzy. He sighed as he clutched his shoulder tightly, trying not to put too much pressure on the blood stained bandage wrapped around his arm.

“Maybe it was wrong of me to challenge you, even when you're already exhausted.”

Cor huffed, “never thought you would be one to complain about a scratch.”

Drautos lifted a hand, the wound on his arm had stopped bleeding.

“I would have thought the Immortal would be more efficient in trying to kill a man.”

The Marshal slowly shook his head with a tired smile as he too found rest against the wall. Cor's blade had swung from beneath and cut right up the side of his arm, the Captain himself was at fault, allowing himself to be lured into complacency the heavier Cor had breathed and the lazier his strikes were. But even so the Captains sense of humour remained phenomenally dry, and from the long sparring session they just had, it was rather dark too. Cor found he didn't mind that.

“Not tonight, it would seem...” Cor quietly murmured. The Marshal regretted having spent so much energy beforehand, maybe then he could have fought a little longer. It had been so freeing to just focus on one objective and block everything else out. There was a calm air that collected between them, only filled by rapid heart beats and ragged breathing.

The Captain waited for the adrenaline high to slowly lower. Drautos must have sensed something was occurring in the Marshal mind. “Is it a regret or a concern?” he suddenly asked.

For the longest minute, Cor doesn't speak. For once trying to find a way to answer.

“I'm unsure. Perhaps both.” Was all he was willing to say.

The Captain doesn't respond right away, simply allowing Cor some space.

“Down at the Glaive HQ, we have an open arena every evening as soon as their training ends. They would be more than thrilled to have the Immortal drop by at some point.”

“Is that so...” The weight beneath Cor's eyes got a little bit heavier.

“Consider it a better form of distraction. That thing over there is hardly dignifying.” Drautos motions at the rather abused and broken dummy Cor had been hammering. 

“I'm grateful for the offer. I'll keep it in mind.”

They sit together in silence for a little while longer.

  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smaller chapter so I decided to realise it early. Plus I was gifted a soul, so give, and ye shall receive.

Yellow and red leaves fly by from the tree, some coming to rest at King Regis' feet, others hitching a ride with the wind as they flee through the sky. Leaves were starting to fall from the great tree on the hill during the passing days. They collected along the ground of the clean cut grass and over the flower bed that encircled a single statue.

Her resting place stood at the top of the hill of the cemetery. Flanked by a single great tree and hugged by all colours of roses. Her tomb was more a statue with a plaque at the feet. A statue of the goddess holding a single flame in her hand, the flame of the human soul returning home to her. It was a grand thing made of precious polished black stone that shone bright and will last for centuries after him. It was a beautiful sight to behold from the marble bench a few steps where Regis sat, looking over the cemetery garden in silence.

The King spends his days sitting on the bench, just watching over the gardens and thinking. The cemetery may be a marvel, but it held little meaning to Regis anymore. When he sits, he is reminded that she is gone. He will never hear her voice, feel her comforting touch, hear her laugh. No amount of silent apology could ever be enough. He failed to protect her and their son that night. Even worse that he did nothing but watch the Marilith fall down the cliff face, too weak to avenge either of them.

He breathes out, and pulls his heavy coat a little tighter when the wind begins to pick up. It's very cold, sunny, yet winter seems to close in faster than it did the year before. How quick time passes, and things change.

There's a long uncomfortable grumble in his stomach, and Regis tries to ignore it. Nowadays it makes him feel ill to stomach even a slice of bread, he consumes what his attendants insist on but most days he'd rather not eat anything at all. There is little point in eating when his own son can barely do the same.

Regis stares at the grass, it crunches beneath his shoes as he moves slightly to the left. It became habit to beg for forgiveness and simply let his tears hit the ground. Weeks later, he suddenly finds himself all out of tears to give. There's a dryness in his eyes and a numbing sensation over his heart. The demands of his body became bothersome; the urge to sleep, the need to eat, the strong desire to touch and watch blue eyes slowly close for him. He banishes the thoughts as soon as they appear, how can he possibly want that at such a time? He loved her, he loved his Queen more than anything and anyone. Yet he has suddenly discovered that he has somehow made room for another, and it doesn't feel right, he doesn't wish it to be true at all.

He rests his face on his hands.

“Your Majesty.”

Regis looks up, pulled out of his thoughts. His guard stands in front of him, a little timid but holding a small tupperware box and a silver flask. She was a very young soldier, had a fair face and messy brown hair done up in a bun. From what he hears she is rather gifted with magic, it's the only reason she stands with him right now.

“Sorry your Majesty, but um, may I sit? You want some tea?” she asks, holding up the flask.

Regis looks back over the hill as if she were never there. This would be the first time she summoned the courage to speak to him, let alone offer him something. He finally nods, and the young guard gives a nervous smile and sits down beside him. She immediately pours the tea into the lid, Regis could smell the rather pleasant fragrance of forest berries fill the air between them. She offers it to him.

“Thank you.” He reluctantly accepts it.

The warm cup in his hands was a pleasant change to his own cold fingers, even though his stomach churns at the thought of consuming it. But he drinks. They sit together in silence as they have been everyday before, calmed by the quiet peace of their green oasis. His wife deserved better than to be buried in a dark faraway tomb with the Kings and Queens of Old, only to be forgotten in the years to come. After the funeral, her ashes were scattered in the gardens, free to see the sun and stars forever. Noctis could have a final memory of his mother be something other than a dark and dreary cave.

But it's all meaningless if Noctis doesn't wake up.

There's a pop of a lid and the slight crinkle of clingwrap being pulled open as the young guard unpacks her lunch. She always came prepared knowing that as soon as they arrived at the cemetery, they won't leave until nightfall. Regis somewhat regretted making her starve on the first day.

“Your Majesty, may I ask something?” she quietly says.

Regis studies the beautiful statue ahead of him. This certainly was a day of first.

He nods.

“If it isn't asking too much; what was she like? The Queen. I never met her.”

Oh.

Regis looks into the dark violet liquid staring at his own reflection figuring out the best way to phrase an answer. They had been like fire and ice, moon and sun; polar opposites yet so connected at the heart. She was beautiful and her soul even more so. Things weren't always easy, the days after their marriage certainly weren't; he was still a young man, immature and impulsive while she was ready to be every bit the Queen he did not deserve to have. They fought each other, took other secret lovers, separated and united. It had been difficult with how no-nonsense she was, but they connected after a few long years of hard work. Even more so when Noctis came along, and it was worth every second. In the end, they truly did learn to love each other.

Regis opens his mouth to speak, but his throat goes tight and dry. His hands quiver as he grips the cup tightly.

“I'm sorry! I overstepped the line!” She quickly bites into her sandwich to steer the attention away.

No, she hadn't.

Thankfully he didn't have to answer her question anymore. Regis listened to her munch on her lunch, and with a side glance he noted how unappealing it actually looked. The bread of her meal was sickly white, and he doesn't see any filling in it at all aside from what looked to be butter oozing out the edges. All she was eating - and had been every day since, was a butter sandwhich and tea. It nearly made the King break out into a cold sweat at the thought of what it would taste like - absolutely revolting. And judging from the way she wrinkles her nose at each bite, she feels the same.

Regis casts his focus onto the flower bed and the little insects that hover over the soft petals. He takes a sip. Not as unpleasant as he thought it would be, perhaps it was the hint of honey she had added. They sit in each others company until the young guard finishes her lunch. They drink the tea together in peace until there is none left in the flask. The melody of her phone ringing became a rather peaceful addition in the past weeks, it never really seemed to stop when the afternoon rolled out.

“Hello?” She answers. They both know who calls; the occupants of the palace were quick to track down the number of the only person he interacts with anymore. Her answers are always the same, yet no one seems to understand what Regis meant when he wished to speak to absolutely no one. Not the Guard, the council or high officials. Not a soul. Only the young guard seemed to understand that. She hangs up the phone, and they continue to sit until the cycle repeats itself. The calls come to an eventual stop when the sun descend after a long uneventful day. Peaceful yet troubled. Regis dreads the thought of having to return to the palace, an empty place with little meaning to him anymore.

With a sigh, he finally asks, “What is your name, young lady?”

She perks up her head, eyes widening in pleasant surprise.

“Crowe, your Majesty. Crowe Altius.”

“A lovely name.”

It would have been polite to ask the young lady her name the first time he had brought her out. But Regis hadn't been doing anything right since the funeral. Perhaps it was too late to repair the damage, but he might as well seize the chance in this day of firsts. It was a nice distraction.

He continues, “Why have you joined the Guard, young lady?”

“Like the other soldiers, I want to protect my home.”

Even if that meant sitting beside a King who has all but abandoned his duty. What a pity.

The young guard's phone suddenly rings once more. She quickly picks it up and looks at the bright blue screen. She glances to Regis, her eyes filled with hesitation as she looks between the phone and him. What had the look been for? The young guard stands up and takes a few paces away, still looking at the King.

She answers, “Good evening, Marshal.”

His heart gives Regis a hard jolt, enough to send the man right onto his feet as soon as she uttered that word. Cor...he always calls - every day. The young guardswoman locks eyes with him, and maybe it was the desperation she saw in his eyes, but she offers him the phone silently urging him to take it. But Regis recomposes himself and sits back down on the bench. He shakes his head at her with firm conviction.

“I'm sorry, Marshal. His Majesty isn't speaking with anyone.”

Do not think of him; he tells himself.

Do not think of him.

~~~

The night has well and truly settled in, they leave the cemetery after the mosquito stings become a bit too much for the both of them. The drive back to the palace is a long one, and the night sky is less beautiful and more foreboding. It was always a cue for a long night at his sons bedside, calming him down as he screams in pain. Regis lets his head rest on the headrest, watching the lights of the skyscrapers pass him by as they go over the highway.

He is nearing the end of his strength. He knows he is close, but he doesn't know when or where he will finally crack and lose himself. Living each day is a chore, and looking at his son is a heartache. If only it would all come to an end.

The Regalia makes a smooth stop as they hit the first checkpoint of the royal dwelling. The guards already know what time he usually arrives, and with who. They give no trouble, only a greeting and salute as they open the gates for them. Security seems to have doubled now that Regis had made this a habit. He rubs away the ache in his neck, and the Regalia slowly moves about the driveway, going around the roundabout towards the rear. The crown palace was a rather large place with how long it takes to reach the rear garage beside the loading bay. The carpark lights are on, and the patrol stand in alert as the Regalia arrives.

The car powers down and the guardswoman opens the door for him. The King takes a moment to himself, a few deep breaths of recollection before returning to this place of confinement. He finally steps out, adjusts his coat and walks tall. Crowe closes the door and quickly falls in step at his side.

A quick sweep of the stairs ahead reveals two guards, and the Marshal standing there speaking with them. Cor is quick to turn his attention away, and sky blue pierces right through him as if saying 'where have you been?'

Regis stares straight ahead, and a frustration seethes through him.

_Do not look at me with those eyes of yours._

The guard quickly puts what her King had taught her to good use. She takes a few steps ahead of him, although she was much smaller than the Marshal her presence was enough to keep him quiet and at a distance. Cor won't approach with her around.

“Good evening, your Majesty.” Cor says as they pass, and he bows in his presence alongside the other guardsmen.

“At ease, men.”

The King doesn't look at them, he keeps his intents forward with the guardswoman at his front. It was like this every night; he won't speak with him. He simply couldn't.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited this too many times just TAKE IT

Each day that passes by becomes more and more difficult to endure the longer King Regis stays away from his throne. And it's not only Cor that feels the unease, it's now almost tangible in the air of the palace. He can hear it in the careless whispers of the maids and in the queries of the attendants. As of late, the council have been doing a solid job in keeping the general public from knowing of Regis' absence and condition, but it was never wise to tempt fate. Time wasn't on their side anymore.

As Cor works through his daily duties, he begins to wonder if that moment had already arrived. The council have been meeting more frequently behind the iron doors. No one is allowed inside, not the guard, the attendants, or serving hands. No one. It's been occurring more frequently lately, and trying to pry out any information from the councilmen was near impossible. They leave only hours later, tight-lipped and stern, not a word is ever spoken about what is discussed in the chambers.

Clarus would have been his first port of call. But even he seems to be just as distant as Regis; running from corner to corner of the palace trying to keep the peace and the flow of the city going without his direct rule. There was no precedence for such an event...a King just outright leaving them. Improvising was keeping everything afloat, but bearing witness to the concerns of everyone else didn't bring Cor any reassurance.

The nights he spends in the sparring room alone after Regis returns made something abundantly clear to the Marshal. He simply cannot spend the rest of his days waiting for something that he can not have. It leaves Cor so hollow he can barely stand it. An empty and quiet room gave so much power to the thoughts in his head that never left him at peace. It always hit him wave after wrecking wave.

Does Regis detest him that much? Blame him for what has become of them? It was difficult enough to wait on him every night, praying for his safety and hoping for his return. Only to have Regis walk past him as if he were nothing but invisible. Cor grits his teeth, every time. It can't be this way; to be vulnerable - held and spoken to as if he were the world and then nothing but shame by sunrise. Having literally bared his body and soul had led to nothing but despair, they saw it coming a mile away and still let it happen. Yet, he hates that his King angers him so much. What right did a sworn sword have to feel in such a way?

Cor pinches the bridge of his nose, the sudden headache nearly makes him dizzy.

“You're going soft on me.” teased Captain Drautos, breaking his trance by lightly tapping Cor's katana with his own blade. Titus circles around him like a predator, the way he prowled across the mats of the sparring room was both patient and menacing. The man waits for Cor to regain himself.

Cor blinks himself back to the room, he is quick to straighten his back. “Not a chance.”

Amongst the sea of uncertainty Captain Drautos was the only one that saw beyond the King and the whispers of the council. Cor felt much less like he was living in a prison when the man graced him with his commanding presence. Most nights they gravitate towards each other with Titus seeking him out in the sparring room that they have now claimed as theirs. In the time past, Drautos still kept his word, no scandal, no problems, no worry, the Marshal was finally at ease with him around.

In late eve, they spar long into the night until they can no longer walk properly.

Blades clash again and again with a fury only a Captain and Marshal can know. With a blow from above Cor dodges and crashes into the weapons rack, knocking all manner of blades onto the floor. In split second thought, he grabs a second sword and charges forward with two long and deadly blades, much to the Captains surprise. Cor is vicious in his counter attack, but Titus did well to skilfully block two deadly points coming at him with a single broadsword.

“I've seen _cadets_ fight with more vigour than this, so show me all of yours!”

“If you insist,” remarked the Marshal with a grin.

Cor made a point to shove Titus back and slash his sword around so quick it nicked the Captains chin before he could do anything about it. Cor came at him again, dropping one sword along the way, Drautos swung around and countered, locking their blades together in a deadly battle of attrition. So close, Cor could feel Drautos' laboured breathing against his cheek, he could see his brow deepen as he watches the way the blades tremble together. Their arms quiver as they refuse to pull back, each pushing against the other until they were eye to eye. Titus suddenly reaches out and grabs the hilt of Cors blade. Cor tried to move back, but both of their swords were torn away and landed on the ground beside them. Titus reared up and suddenly punched him.

Shocked, Cor darted backwards touching the red mark on his cheek. A punch; things never got this physical before.

Whatever Drautos was thinking, he showed none of it. Simply raised his tight fists upwards with a hint of a smile.

“I feel as if you're testing me,” huffed the Marshal.

“Maybe,” he said.

Pushing away the swords with his boot Cor meets Titus head on. The close quarter combat went down harsher than before as punches were thrown left and right, colliding with solid flesh and muscle. With his wrist, Cor wipes away the sweat running down his face before sweeping the Captain right off his feet. The look of shock riddled his face as he hit the mats with a grunt, without wasting a second Cor is quick to climb on him and straddle his chest, pressing his knees on his outstretched arms and keeping him pinned down by the neck.

The Marshal pants to regain his breath, eyeing the Captain beneath him and waiting for him to even flinch. Titus looked right back at him, not offering any form of acknowledgement that he was bested. They study each other carefully, eyes trained on only what was in front. At some moment, Titus relaxed beneath the Marshal, even with hands at his neck. His green eyes begin to wonder over him in a way Cor couldn't quite understand; so bold and unashamed - what was he looking for? Or seeing when he looked at Cor's body in such a way?

“You're heavy,” Titus breathed.

Oh.

Cor shifted his weight forward and off the others chest, then he finally let go of his hold on the mans neck.

Cor said, “three for three. Have you had enough of me throwing you down yet?”

“For now.”

He taps Cors thigh and the Marshal rolls off of him.

Drautos says, “you seemed less focused.”

Cor tests his shoulder, feeling a slight ache settle in from where the Captain had given him a good hit the night before.

“Well, it comes and it goes.” He does his best not to continue his thoughts, or let the hard feelings take root in his heart again. It seemed easier doing that around the Captain.

Cor then says, “do you know what it is...to just watch something unfold. And having no power to change it?”

Drautos asks no questions. He doesn't even need to think about what Cor was telling him. “Yes. I'd try it anyway.”

Titus then gets up, reaching for his towel at the bench and leaving the discarded blades untouched. Cor quickly looked to him, surely he wouldn't leave him alone so suddenly and so quickly. But Titus fixes himself up, redressing himself properly.

“Titus.”

“...yes?”

The Marshal hesitates. He hasn't felt this anxious in so long. He takes a breath and says, “just...a moment.”

Whether the Captain was surprised or not, Cor didn't find out. But he understood nonetheless, he heard the Captain walk back onto the mats and sit quietly beside him. He offered Cor a towel which he gladly took. His company was soothing, his breathing and presence a calming distraction, and for now, the empty room doesn't haunt him.

 

~~~

  
  


A day later here he was in a small office at such a late hour. Dion sat on the chair in front of the desk, furiously writing away on important documents about whatever it was that needed to be noted. Cor was already mentally finished for the day; sitting back on the chair and absently twirling a pen about in one hand.

In front of him on the table, were a few stacks of papers, smaller than what it was a few hours ago. It had been good to distract his mind for a little while. But even then, they still had more work to plough through before the financial year ended. Cor sighed, he was always meant for the combative arts rather than administration work. Dion on the other hand, seemed to love the numbers work as she kept on writing and writing like no tomorrow.

“Almost done?” He asked.

She looks up, “Um...”

He took that as a no. Neither can really leave for the night until she was finished with her lot of the paperwork.

“I'll wait.”

She looked down, a little anxious but kept on writing. Her pace picked up a fraction as she wrote, pulling out a small notebook and studying the pages with scrutiny before continuing to write. Moments pass and Cor looks out the window. The day had been long, and for once he considered just going back to his home rather than wait and watch like he always did.

Dion starts, “Look, here's the thing,” she taps her pen nervously, “there is still a lot of paperwork that needs to be filled out, why don't you just go home. I can finish it and have you sign your life away tomorrow. Make things easier?”

She offers a smile to try and sweeten the deal.

“The deal was we share the workload.”

“Marshal, I do the bookwork. I've seen what you get paid for - you get no benefit staying up waiting for me. I get paid to be a night owl, so just go home.”

“Are you sure you can handle this alone?”

She brushes it off, “please, the previous Head once placed everything in one _single_ folder. And I mean....everything. One hell of a week that was - but I can survive. Go!”

“Hard to argue with that logic.”

Not having the heart or even will to argue, he gets up, gathers his jacket and departs. Dion jumps up and quickly claims the larger more comfortable chair at the desk. She seemed much happier to be doing her work alone.

Outside in the silent corridors of Insomnia, Cor shrugs on his jacket. Was he to turn left or right? The urge to sleep was less domineering, but he is hesitant to let his thoughts run unchecked like the numerous times before. It quickly occurs to him what else could be a better form of distraction, and the appeal of crossing swords with the Captain again strikes him. He takes off, hoping that there was still time left for a quick visit to the nearby home of the Glaive, and the Captain at its head.

~~~

The Glaive HQ was something extremely well built for a legion that was still on its first leg. Regis ensured the agreement with Galahd worked, and at no expense apparently. The building was spacious, and strong dark stone held up its walls, Lucian banners and battle ornaments decorated the walls as he walked by. This would be the first time Cor would tour the venue properly; it had many floors to it, most large and open for training and others for mission briefings. The Marshal only had to follow the sound of combat up the stairs to find the Glaive soldiers and the Captain himself.

It was a large gathering and the soldiers of the regiment were dressed down for the lively yet relaxed atmosphere. Some sat on the steps leading to the outdoor warping tower. Others lounged on the benches or paced at the edge of the raised fighting arena, jeering on the two men tossing each other about. There was quite a bit of yelling as one seemed to be pulling at the others hair. Cor is quick to find the Captain at the edge of the arena, standing amongst the soldiers and keenly watching the fight unfold.

The Marshal makes his way around. Watching how the Glaive fight would be interesting to observe, but as to participating, Cor isn't sure if he can be bothered anymore with this sort of crowd hanging about. Chatting suddenly seemed more appealing, something they started doing more often. The soldiers with sharp eyes recognised him instantly when he failed to stealthily move behind them, it was mere seconds before more eyes turned to him in excitement.

“Marshal!” Some of them greeted.

The Marshal was well used to it. “Keep your eyes straight ahead, you might learn something tonight.”

“Marshal.” The Captain weaved himself out of the small crowd and motioned for Cor to follow. They move over to the empty corner of the arena for some privacy.

“You have a rough bunch on your hands.”

“They're young but still strong.”

Cor folds his arms as he watches the fight continue. “In time I don't doubt you'll have a good regiment here.”

“Your presence and your blessing all in one day - incredible, after this we might even turn the tide on this war,” he said dryly, but the undertone of humour was not completely lost.

“Well, wouldn't that be the day.”

Both of them reeled back slightly as there was a sudden crack; in the ring, one of the fighters was thrown into one of the posts. The sound of his head hitting the edge was striking.

Titus cussed, “shit.”

The fight is quick to stop as the unfortunate young man remains on the ground unmoving, a few others watching were already in the arena trying to haul him onto their shoulders. Drautos marched right up to them, taking the time to check on the fallen man himself “Get him down to the medical officers ward right now.”

The soldiers are quick to take their unconscious friend out of the hall. There's a low chatter that begins now that the ring lies empty.

Cor waits until Drautos returns. “That was unexpected, will he be alright?”

“He's still breathing. Doubt it's a concussion.”

It's quieter now that the fight was over. And it didn't seem like anyone else was keen to take the ring after the accident, the Glaive would rather stick around and talk to cool off from the excitement of the day. Curious eyes begin to look their way, maybe wondering what the Captain and the Marshal could possibly be talking about.

“An odd day it's been. The same thing occurred to one of my recruits this morning,” said Cor.

“Would have thought your lot would be better than that.”

“Well then it must be something in the air, Captain.” Cor's rebuttal is rather light hearted.

Drautos chuckled, and looked at him saying, “there is, and it seemed to have followed you here...”

The Marshal couldn't comprehend the way his voice dropped when he said that, it was both suggestive and intriguing.

Eventually, two more Glaive set themselves up in the ring, they give each other a friendly jab as they place wrapping on their fists, preparing to bring the hall to life once more.

“No warping?”

Titus shakes his head, “thought it would be best to suspend warping until the King has...recovered. That and the council didn't give me a choice on the matter.”

Cor remains silent, preferring not to ponder on Regis' condition. Having seen him only moments ago, he was grateful for the council's order no matter what Drautos thought of it. Despite Cor's anger, it was hard to hold onto it for long.

“I wouldn't suppose you'd be up for a rematch?”

The Captain quickly considers it. “Yes.”

“Perhaps wait for these two to knock each other out.”

“Then it shouldn't be too long - It's been some time since the last major deployment and they've got a lot of energy pent up in them. Just lending a hand to the border patrol every now and again doesn't do much for them.”

Cor nods, he remembers that last assignment well. A scuffle with the local wildlife that got too close to the wall. “Likewise. I've noticed some of yours have yet to deployed under my command.”

The Captain folds his arms, “I've been holding off on that. You're normally posted at the border when things get really messy.”

“Are you that soft on your soldiers?”

“No. I had meant to keep their deployment around Galahd until they start to master the warp. But it's been difficult, fresh off the back of losing their homes. Even worse when they're unsure about what's around the next corner. Now that the future is uncertain, they're starting to question the King, and frankly, so am I.”

Cor was quick to the defensive, “The situation is unfortunate. He's lost his Queen, and he faces losing his son too. Despite what we feel, we can but stand by and wait for his return. Things will then be as they once were.”

Drautos pauses, and there's a break in the serious mask he wears. “You don't seriously think that.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Drautos is silent for a heartbeat. He gives it to Cor rather bluntly, “because _you_ aren't enough for him. Waiting won't make what happened between you two any better.”

There was a wave of sheer disbelief and almost denial as the Marshal processes what he just heard. Incredulous, Cor barks back, “now is your chance to elaborate.”

“You said it yourself Marshal, we are - you are, the sworn sword of His Majesty. But the King has plenty of those. He doesn't have to be careful if he pushes a blade too far and breaks it. The sword won't complain to the master while it's in pieces - it knows it only ever had one purpose. The master knows it too.”

Cor just looked at Drautos for the longest moment. The meaning behind his words is crystal clear. Is that what he truly thought of Regis? Is that what he thought happened between them, that Regis had used and abused him? _H_ e isn't some sort of blindly faithful _pet_. Boiling anger swells in his broad chest. It had been a mistake to drive down here, and to think that he was starting to enjoy the mans company.

“I'm done here.” Cor storms off quickly leaving, eager to escape the halls of the building that suddenly became much too big. But Drautos doesn't let him go, and Cor can hear him wordlessly coming after him. The Marshal lets him follow until they're just outside of the building where the nearby sounds of traffic and the cool midnight air greet them, there he comes to a complete stop.

“Speak, Captain. You have no trouble doing that.”

For once Drautos seems to hesitate. “Apologies Marshal, but the King has made you his victim. You have little regard for yourself.”

“What occurred was between him and I. No one else. I am no victim. I wasn't forced into anything, if that is what you're implying. I was given an order and I gladly carried it out. It's what I vowed, and it's what I do - it's what we both do. Perhaps what we consider a justifiable cause is different, but I won't expect you to ever understand our bond.”

Cor let a deep breath escape him. Drautos stays silent, and once more Cor couldn't read the expression on his face, so silent and observant.

“I've clearly offended you. I won't speak of it anymore.”

Cor suddenly lost all patience, and he tightens his hand into a fist.

“You claimed not to want to involve yourself in the affairs of others yet everything I have seen and heard has indicated otherwise. Is your word not your honour? Or is something else compelling you?”

“You're not ready for an answer to that, Marshal.”

“Don't be a fool. That decision is not for you to make any more.”

Drautos looks at him with stern eyes, he runs a hand through his short hair and suddenly makes his choice. “Marshal, you've always held my attention, no matter what it is you happen to do. In all this, you've made me _your_ victim since the first time we spoke. I can't hide my concern after what I've witnessed. But you should break this... _connection_ that you have with him for your own sake.”

A few moments pass. Moments soon turn to minutes, and Cor couldn't stop staring at the Drautos. Nothing but silence filled in the passing seconds. Drautos became more unsettled, but he doesn't break the stare they have on each other.

The Marshal just didn't know what to make of the rather unorthodox _confession_. Cor pieced together his words and slowly thought through it.

Cor finally breaks the ice, unsure if he believes what he hears. “I've always held your attention? As in, you have feelings for-”

Drautos lets out a sharp breath. “No need to spell it out.”

“I'm...unsure what to say.”

“That makes two of us.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we are two more chapters away from A N A R CH YYY

The coming weekend was already very slow to begin when the weather took a turn for the dreary, cold and wet. The rain pattered against the glass window and Cor watched the grey clouds slowly roll by, patiently waiting for the kettle to boil. This was the one day of the week he could have all to himself. It was still up for debate as to whether it boded will for him. It was always a strange feeling to have a day dedicated to doing almost nothing; the fridge was stocked, the washing was done, and his modest apartment in the city centre was neat and spotless, all done in the early hours of the morning. It was just him and his thoughts now.

The kettle whistled a high pitched tune as it came to the boil, and Cor carried his tea to the lounge room where the television was idle on whatever channel it had been on. He settled on the couch and cautiously drinks. The fatigue of the entire week weighed down on him more now that he stopped moving.

With the recruits, the extra work hours, and his thoughts on the King, Cor would have figured the blindside Titus had given him the night before would tip him over completely. But as he sat through the ads of the television set, he found his feelings on the matter to be completely scrambled. The honesty of the confession did set him at ease; it certainly explained a lot of what Drautos had done and said. But no matter how pure the Captain's intent, what was spoken about the King between them is something Cor was unwilling to accept.

The Marshal is slow to finish his tea when his attention is piqued by the female newscaster. The weekend is normally slow with the news, and it should have been another days update on the market, happenings in the city, celebrities, and peace in Insomnia.

“ _Following the concerns of active wildlife in the region, new reports have emerged from the humble residents of the distant towns of Leide, describing what is believed to be 'unusual military activity' occurring in the late hours of the night. Residents are concerned with the occurrence that has so far resulted in loud noises, fire, and in some instances, property damage. A statement has yet to be given by Commander Eld of Fort Leide. The High Officials of the Crown have not been unable to comment on the situation at this time.”_

Cor frowned, he swore he read about this before. Fort Leide was the regions military base, yet there was no word of deployment or any active assignments coming from there, they would have made a statement otherwise. But the biggest worry was that no word has come from Insomnia either, Clarus should have been there even if only to ease the worry with a white lie. Cor sighed, he's seen this sort of thing before. If it was the Nif's trying to move in once more, everyone including Regis, have just run out of time.  
  
  


~~~

  
  


They wouldn't call him in. It was his day off, and from what he saw in the foyer it was clear the council had a plan of their own. No wonder they kept him in the dark, it was almost insulting. The iron doors of the council room were shut tight with only two guardsmen standing watch outside. Cor hones in on the door before he sees one of the palace guards step in front of him, he keeps walking until the guard summoned the courage to get right in his way.

“No one is permitted in the chambers until the council have finished. Please leave the foyer, Marshal.” His voice had a slight shake to it.

Cor looked down at the guard that was hidden behind a visor, then back at the doors. So it was that sort of meeting.

“I'll wait here.”

“Sir-”

With hard and narrowed eyes Cor kept the guard in place, he was not in the mood to be argued with. “Unless you want to remove me by _force_.”

The guard was wise to stay silent, and having made his point Cor stands in wait by the entrance. He isn't leaving until he has some idea of what is going on. It takes a lot out of him not to start pacing like a caged lion or even start tapping his foot in a frustrating impatience. After a long maddening wait, the doors finally creak open, and it's not the council that leaves as expected.

“Marshal.”

Cor blinks only once, but words failed him completely. “Captain?...”

Cor cautiously approaches, curiosity driving him more than fondness. For now he puts aside the judgement from the night before, but even so, he hesitates on taking the last few steps to approach the Captain. Cor keeps his distance, and for him, it was enough. Drautos pauses. There were dark shadows under his eyes, he didn't seem well rested at all, and with how distant he seemed Cor could feel something was wrong.

Standing apart from one another, Cor breaks the silence. “Why are you here?”

“I'm bound by the council. I have no authority to say.”

“Is it serious?”

Drautos says nothing.

Cor runs a hand through his hair and breathes out sharply. “Fine. If not from you, I'll get answers from someone else.”

“I doubt you will have much luck.”

Now was neither the time nor place to talk about what was said yesterday at the Glaive headquarters. Deep down Cor was relieved that neither of them uttered a word about it, he'd rather bury it forever.

The guards in waiting move to open the heavy doors once more, and there's a shift in the chambers as the members of the high council exit with their decorated regalias trailing behind them. Their faces are as austere as the high walls surrounding them, and the chatter between them is low as they walk into the foyer. There is visible hesitation when the Marshal comes into their attention.

“I'll tell you what I can tonight.” The Captain says, suddenly looking very eager to leave.

Cor sighs, exasperated; the Captain changed his mind so suddenly. “Alright.”

He lets the Captain make his quick retreat, and as soon as he was out of sight Cor makes straight for Clarus who was in conversation with a lady councillor. He's the only man who may just throw him a morsel for his curiosity. The Marshal weaves through the other wary members and pulls Clarus aside.

Clarus chuckles, “Ah, Marshal. I should have known you'd be the first to come to me about this recent development.”

Cor did not feel the same positive energy Clarus seemed to be carrying despite the recent news.

He went straight to the point. “What's going on in Leide?”

Clarus pursed his lips, but still kept his rather professional composure. Cor understood the way his eyes cautiously glanced around them. “It's a very delicate situation, Marshal. Understand that the information isn't mine to divulge at present.”

The councilman eyes the others around him as they slowly leave the foyer, some engrossed in their own conversations. Others potentially listening to them, but nothing gave it away.

“At present, you need not concern yourself. In time, you will know if you are needed.”

Cor wasn't happy.

“Is the Captain involved in what happened?”

Clarus shakes head, taken aback by the mere idea.

“Then why was he in there with you all?”

“His presence was required. It is as I said Marshal - in time. And I feel we may need you in this. But trust in us for the moment, we have the situation under control.”

Cor slowly nodded his head, “Alright. Any word on our King? Surely you need him for this.”

Clarus walked quickly, motioning for Cor to follow. The councilman does not speak until they are well beyond the open foyer. A maid and a butler are quick to pass, busy in their own duties to pay the wandering men any attention.

Clarus starts, hard eyed and stern. “No word on our King. He has been very short tempered, only natural for him to work through this period of mourning. Only time can heal such deep wounds.”

“If I have read the situation correctly, time is no longer on his side. You must try to speak with him again.”

Clarus comes to a stop, looking the Marshal in the eye. “I'm sorry old friend, I sense there is little I can do for him. In fact...I had hoped to ask the same of you. You've always had a particular 'influence' over him. Can you not work that to your advantage this time?”

Cor swallows dryly. Clarus and even Cid had always known what had once been between the King and the Marshal, it had been no secret to anyone when they were younger. But being asked to use those precious memories to his advantage didn't sit well with him; he already did try, and it failed. Regis was even further from his reach now than he was in both marriage and fatherhood.

The Marshal slowly shakes his head, “It...didnt work.”

Cor need not say more, and Clarus nodded regardless if he truly understood.

“Then I will make another attempt to speak with him. I cannot promise anything, however.”

Cor let out a breath he never knew he held, that was all he wanted to hear. The Marshal had to reach out and hold the mans shoulders in relief.

“Thank you, Clarus,” he says with such hope.

  
  


~~~  
  
  


The evening is quick to roll around again, Cor doesn't notice until the halls were shrouded in darkness. Only soft lights guide the way through endless golden halls. This time it isn't Cor wandering alone, in a turn of the evening events it was Captain Drautos who sought him out as soon as the Marshal had returned to the castle for their meeting. The Captain looked concern when he approached, but he held his words, instead preferring to walk together in silence perhaps waiting to find an ideal place to talk through everything.

It seemed appropriate that they chose the common sparing room where Cor had first been found. It was clean, brightly lit, and more importantly empty of prying eyes and ears. Cor is first to sit on the bench against the wall. Drautos remains standing in front of him, arms folded and still dressed in his formal glaive attire.

Cor clasps his hands together. They were alone, now was the time.

“Well, you know what it is I want. Now is the time to talk.”

Drautos says, “the council, what could they tell you this morning?”

“Clarus told me about as much as you have. Apparently, they have things under control.” Cor says with disbelief.

Drautos murmurs in agreement, making no effort to sound convincing. Drumming his fingers on his forearm.

He says, “they're correct.”

“So then, what happened at Fort Leide?”

“I haven't been given permission to speak about it, and honestly Marshal, I do not wish to say.”

Cor growled, “then what are you willing to say?”

Drautos lowers his arms and lets them rest at his side, truly attempting to pick his words before revealing them, “Trust in what they are telling you for the time being. But you are my superior - they'll come to you first, so I ask that regardless of what happens that you not interfere.”

Cor rests his elbows on his knees, leans forward and rests his head on clasped hands. “You're asking me not to get involved.”

“Yes-”

“Why?”

“It's a manner of honour, Marshal.” The smaller ornaments of his clothes gently clink as he folds his arms again.

“Is that all you wished to say?”

Drautos nods.

“I think I understand. However, if I am summoned by the council or my King to act, I will not ignore it in favour of you. Hardly something worth a discussion.”

The displeasure in the Captains tight-lipped expression was very nearly missed.

“I know. But If I can avoid it then it won't have to come to that,” he says.

That topic was done and settled, having done nothing to alleviate the Marshals concern at all. He found no point in even having returned to the castle if it were just for this. But after they stopped talking Drautos showed no signs of leaving. Maybe it was because of the elephant in the room, not something Cor wanted to bring up but had no other choice.

“Captain...about the other night-”

“It's a non-issue, Marshal.”

There was no escaping his words the night before, and Cor tightens his fist. It wasn't just a non-issue to him. He wasn't some sword that revelled in being broken. The very idea left quite a scratch to his ego.

“It is to me.” He says firmly.

“Marshal, I've offended you enough the previous night. Truth or not, it's better we don't speak of it further. I'm sure there are more pressing matters on your mind than my slip of the tongue.”

Cor glared at the man in displeasure, but if he wanted to steer the conversation in another direction Cor had no will left to argue. Well, there was the other matter of the Captains apparent feelings towards the Marshal. Cryptic at first, but nonetheless true. Cor couldn't say that he has ever dealt with someone that had confessed to him. “You're aware that I cannot possibly reciprocate?”

“Yes.”

“Then why tell me at all?”

“You had asked and I gave you an answer,” Drautos grunted.

“I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with that.”

The Captain huffs. He steps back and as he slowly walks away he says, “then we are at an impasse.”

He stops in front of the weapons rack and grabs a bladed sword, he turns around and points its edge once more at the Marshal. Surprised, Cor leans back, and with a raised brow looks at the sharp tip of the weapon, it gleams from the harsh white light above.

“Marshal, don't misunderstand. I'm not trying to complicate things. If I had it my way you would never have known anything.”

Cor looks up and just watches him. Drautos stands there, waiting with eyes that were patient and yet surprisingly apologetic. Maybe this was as close as the man would get to apologising, or even admitting that he stepped out of line. Something about the way Drautos looked at him moved Cor, it almost made him want to break and just tell him everything - how he hurts, how lost he feels, how and what he wants.

With a sigh, Cor just picks himself up. Drautos spins the sword down and presents him with the handle, Cor can almost hear the Captain say it again; a nice distraction.

Cor murmurs, “nothing has been going our way as of late.”

“I know...”

  
  


~~~

  
Time had run by much too quickly, hours had passed by in that sparring room as quick as mere minutes. Cor hurried down the long halls of the palace, shrugging on his jacket and breathing a little heavier. Sparring with Drautos was always a lively yet taxing affair, but Cor lost track of the hour and before he knew it - he was going to be late. He couldn't miss waiting for Regis at the stairs this time, and it was something he'd rather not say to the Captain.

A small part of Cor told himself to listen to Drautos and let the King go, to trust in the council to go through its motions. Another part urged him not to listen to the man that had insulted him and threw his balance off course - and instead to keep running. So Cor ran up the stairs and pushed through the corridors to reach Regis before he shut himself away.

As he reached the bottom floor he ran right up to the window, peering through and searching the area below. Lights. Soldiers. An empty lot. Regis walking up the stairs with his guard and Clarus in tow. Oh, thank the Goddess! Cor let go of the breath he had been holding and rested his forehead on the glass, hopefully Regis can come around this time even if it were for the sake of the people.

The Marshal walked the rest of the way, certain that he would catch Regis on the path he walked. In the distance, he could hear someone approach. Clarus emerged from the dull light, striding with an onward focus and a deep brow. Beside him was the King, looking equally displeased. Cor couldn't hear what they were saying, but by the looks of them together, it wasn't a pleasant conversation.

As they came closer, Regis paid Cor no attention. As Cor watched and waited hope rapidly began to fade.

“I will not hear any more of this!” Regis growled.

“As you wish, your Majesty.” Clarus simply finally fell out of step with the fast-moving King, he wore the look of defeat. The Marshal looked between them in a panic, and Clarus quickly motioned over to Regis as if to say; _'quickly!'_

“Your Majesty.” Cor runs after him. The King still does not acknowledge him, if anything Cor watched his frown suddenly deepen.

“Not now.” He brushes off.

“Please listen to me.”

Regis just shakes his head with a firm conviction that cannot be altered. And the Marshal can see it in how quickly he walks, and in how his focus never seemed to waver, not even in Cors presence.

Regis won't stop, not for anyone.

The Marshal comes to a halt, letting the King escape from his grasp once more. The wound in his heart grows before he can stop it.

Clarus stands by him. “I'm sorry.”

The Marshal says nothing, his sense of unease only grew. None of what had occurred the entire day had given him a good feeling. Between the concerns of the council, Clarus' agenda, and Drautos' unspoken words - something had to give.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Regis places a hand over his other resting on his knee. For the moment he can stop shaking from the pain that was plaguing his body and making him tremble. The King takes a deep ragged breath and bursts out coughing.

He's exhausted. It would have made sense if the crystal had somehow decided to sap more of his life than it normally did. It would be the only thing to explain why his entire body hurt, why he can't eat or sleep, and why every move he makes feels as if the world spun and then punched him in the chest. Breathing is hard, moving difficult, and thinking painful....the very act of living was more awful by the day. But it wasn't the crystal, none of it at all.

“Y-Your majesty...” says Crowe as she hands him a cup of warm tea.

The King all too eagerly accepts it, throwing his head back he drinks it scalding hot. No matter the pain, the liquid is sweet relief to his troubles, a quick fix to his deep woes as he calms down from his tremors and the rawness of his throat.

The King and Crowe sit together on the stone bench as they have every day. And not even the beauty of the garden could sway Regis' health or the guards concern. He looked at the beautiful statue, admiring its form and presence it represented. It no longer brings him comfort, but guilt. _She_ would hate to see him like this, but the thought of her didn't bring him any peace - not like before.

Sitting amongst the grass and green was beginning to feel more like an escape. An escape from everything rather than the honouring of a memory. He lowers his gaze to the ground, sparing himself the sight he sits in front of. The King surrenders to the harshness of the breeze, letting it chill him to the bone. Beside him, his guard holds her coat and scarf closer feeling the bitter chill more so than him.

The young guard does her best to ignore the phone calls. Even though she cannot help but glance on occasion at the noisy device.

In the cold, she brings out her small lunch box and pries it open. She rubs her hands together and digs into today's meal with eagerness. She bites into something that looks more real and wholesome this time. Regis can smell the freshness of the tomatoes and the faint aroma of cold cut spiced meat, although it doesn't agree with his stomach he can hear Crowe munching into it with content. Behemoth tenderloin was quite the delicacy in Duscae, and it was a shot in the dark that she would enjoy Lestallum vegetables and spices. But much to Regis' pleasure, it seems Crowe had welcomed the crate full of fresh produce left anonymously at her door.

Only after she finishes does Regis speak, “Tell me about yourself.”

Crowe fidgets with her gloves. “Um...me?”

Regis smiled, it wasn't as if there were anyone else around. “Yes.”

She looked at the King, trying to decipher why he would suddenly be curious after so long.

Regis said, “we can start with where you are from.”

She looks down at her feet idly resting on the grass, “Just a little place a ways out called Galahd.”

A palace guard and from Galahd no less. That truly caught the King by surprise, he never thought he'd be sitting beside a refugee so soon after the tragedy.

“You are a guardswoman, not a Glaive trainee?”

She lowers her eyes to the ground and runs a hand through her hair. “I'm uh, working on that your Majesty. Failed the psych test last time.”

The phone buzzes again and she pulls it up, just taking a quick look at who it may be. Her mobile phone was small and brimmed silver, the standard in fashion from what Regis could tell. He smiled as the little charms adorning the side jingle about; a malboro, love heart, and moogle. Oh, what it would have been like to have two children; a little prince and princess...

Regis began asking her more question, slowly her answers came more liberally. The guard named Crowe had no immediate or distant family, she lived alone and was very young to be managing her own life. Quite literally an orphan of the world. It's difficult for her to eat well with most of her salary going into the hefty rent and bills of her run-down unit in the city. It's not a very exciting life, but one she is eager to carve out for herself. Regis admired her fortitude and beauty just as much.

“Well, it seems you are doing well for yourself, Crowe.”

A soft red painted her cheeks, she had to purse her lips tight to stop a wide embarrassing smile, “Y-yeah, thanks your Majesty.”

The softness about her eyes, the youth that radiated off her and the curiosity she held were a marvel to Regis. Crowe looked nothing like the former Queen, but there was something in her that was shockingly familiar. Something Regis could not put a finger on no matter how hard he tried to think. But for a brief lapse in time, his Queen was there beside him, smiling and looking out into the distance. Calm and untroubled.

 _Aulea_...she didn't need him anymore.

Crowe looked to the King, “your Majesty?”

And it was gone. It was well and truly gone. Regis went pale as the startling revelation overwhelmed him once more. His wife has passed, and she will never be returning again. There is nothing lingering in this shadow he had built of her. It wrecked into the King and forced his chest to constrict tighter than the death grip of a Naga.

She is gone...

The King suddenly gets up and rushes to the nearest bush a distance away, with one hand on the tree he bends over and heaves up everything in his stomach. His body shudders with each contraction, everything is ripped out from his stomach and yet all that comes free is fluid and a little blood. His muscles painfully try to withstand the action, but the King continues to dry heave even when his body has nothing left to give. Again and again, it is pure agony, and the sheer violence of it scares Crowe into action. She quickly wraps her arms around him just beneath his chest, ready to perform a life-saving manoeuvre.

“Your majesty can you still breathe?!”

Regis finally manages to catch a quick breath. “Y-yes.”

He suddenly drops, Crowe is quick to catch him before he hits the ground.

“F-forgive me...I cannot...” The world seems to keep spinning no matter how hard Regis tries to stand up on his own. All that is left is a painful throat, a sore stomach and a broken heart. With that, his body finds solace in air.

“I've got you, sir,” says Crowe as she helps him back over to the bench. She runs for a medicine kit from the car boot and offers him pills, a few tissues and water. The King accepts them with an unsteady hand.

Crowe tries to lighten the mood, “Wow sir, you're so old you can barely handle a little air.”

The King pauses, staring her right in the eyes. The smile she had was quickly wiped away and Crowe awkwardly fidgeted with the tissues. It's a sudden silence but Regis finds it in him to truly laugh; the nerve the young woman had. He was grateful for it. Hearing his amusement eased Crowes jitters, she cracks a smile too.

The chilling bite of the wind begins to warm as the day slowly comes to a close. The sun was setting and the King and guard sat beside one another once more. She slowly patted his back, ensuring he could still breathe properly.

She says, “If I may speak boldly, your Majesty...”

“Yes,” he says.

She frowned, pensive. “I don't know what it's like to lose someone important. I lost a lot before I could even walk, so it's never really mattered much to me. But the dead are at peace, whatever sin, whatever regret, isn't it up to you to let it go for yourself? The dead have already let _us_ go.”

The King looks away in silence. The notion of forgiving oneself was so alien to him. He was the King, whatever burden from choice must be on his shoulders. No lies, no denial, always remembering and learning from history - a keeper of truths alone. But he knows who he is and he knows where his place lies.

Let it all go? If only it were that easy...

The incessant ringing of the phone broke the silence. The guard checks the name, and immediately picks it up.

“It's the physician looking after the Prince.” She urges the phone to Regis whom quickly answers.

“Has my son awoken?”

The physician on the other line said “No, your Majesty I am sorry. But there is an urgent matter we must discuss-”

The King's heart drops, and he slowly shakes his head. The red sky seemed so terrible as it loomed above them threatening to consume them whole. “Then it is nothing that cannot wait until I return.”

Without wanting to hear another word he hands the phone back to Crowe.   
  
  


~~~  
  
  


The Regalia drove so smoothly Regis barely felt it, his eyes nearly shut as they glide into the check point at the palace. He rubs his temple, trying to entice himself awake as the car continues to a stop in its usual resting place.

“Your Highness, shall I walk you inside?” says Crowe, looking back at Regis from the driver seat, and then out the window. At the foot of the stairs stood Cor beneath silver moonlight, standing straight, arms folded and looking every bit the Marshal that he is. It's his eyes that betray him each and every time, the silent longing within them that Regis was at fault for.

“Yes,” says the King.

Crowe opens the door for him, and Regis braces himself for the long walk. Dread or shame - Regis couldn't pinpoint which, but it accompanies him as the distance between the King and Marshal rapidly close with each step. Cors face was the last he wanted to see.

The Marshal quickly turns heel to follow the King as he strides wordlessly past. “Your Majesty-”

Crowe suddenly steps in and gives Cor a look of warning as fierce as she can manage. “His Majesty won't be disturbed by no one.”

The plea is gentle. “Regis, please...”

Regis simply nods at Crowe, she seems to understand him. The young guard reluctantly leaves them alone, climbing back into the Regalia and driving it away to the garage.

“Marshal, I will be left alone.”

Cor boldly reaches across and touches the Kings arm. The warmth burned bright and right through his blazer, searing his skin and making a finger twitch. He was too familiar with how much he enjoyed that heat, once. The King walks away from him but Cor fingers grip tighter, the sudden affection in his eyes was as clear as daybreak; it was too much. Regis wasn't prepared for how intense it cut through his very soul.

Regis nods at Crowe to step away. The King then sighs, defeated. He turns away from the other mans eyes. “Marshal, I know we have unfinished business. But now is not the time.”

Cor speechless to even hear him, The King felt a pang of guilt.

“I...If not now, then when?”

“Another time, but not like this. Not now.”

Cors brow furrows, “of course. But it's something else I wish to talk to you about, it won't take long at all, just a moment of your time. I'll walk with yo-”

“No.” Regis presses, and pries his arm free quickly retreating through the doors. Cor doesn't move from his spot, he just lets the glass doors close between them with a soft click.

It hurt to leave him standing there alone, but Regis did not regret retreating into the castle and navigating the palace corridors to his sons room. What could he honestly say to the Marshal after what they had done together? If he knew the truth, it would crush him, as if it didn't bring Regis enough pain as it is in that moment. Sooner or later, he will have to tell the Marshal, but now he'd rather keep his losses to a minimum.

He tried to focus his attention on the sudden group of physicians quietly talking outside the Prince's room. Regis swallows the dryness in his throat as he approaches, they quickly disbanded and bow before him at the door.

“Your Majesty, we must speak with you.”

“I have only just arrived, allow me a moment with my son.” Why was the universe hell bent on making everything worse?

As he enters he sees Noctis there, and it is not a sight any father should ever have to see. Noctis is asleep in his bed in the exact same spot he was left in, lying on his back skinny and pale. A small ventilator kept him breathing a little easier through the nightmares and constant pain in his legs. Small, vulnerable, he needed his father more than anyone - a truth Regis would always carry with him. All the things he should have done, the time wasted; missed dinners, birthdays, empty promises and black nights void of stories his boy loved.

So many things-

And yet even here, it infuriates him that suddenly he is thinking about the Marshal and his lost eyes, the fire of his body against his and the three words he wanted to hear. Cor had been the very embodiment of beauty, heartbreak and sin all in one. Regis runs both hands through his hair, trying to find some form of equilibrium. Why had he let himself lose control? Why is it that he wants this cursed man when the soils of Eos embracing his queen are still soft, and the sheets over his son still colder than the Glacians tears.

 _Why?_   He thinks, throwing his coat against the nearest chair. His son. He needs his son. Needs to focus on what is truly important above all else.

The sheets are indeed cold, and Regis pulls up another chair to sit beside the bed and gently touch the cheek of his sleeping son. He's cold, nearly snow white and losing more weight by the day. Noctis seemed more doll than human. He has long since stopped screaming in his sleep, he barely had enough energy to breath as is. The tubes in his throat that help feed him barely keep him going through the day. He's deteriorating so quickly.

Noctis' black hair lost the gloss and fluff it once had, the strands are coarse and oily and splitting at the ends. His skin felt dry and rough and was flaring at the corner of his mouth where the ventilator delivers the oxygen to him.

Oh, glorious Prince of Lucis.

Regis grits his teeth and closes his eyes tight to hold back the anguish that threatens to break. When Noctis wakes up who knows what the permanent damage may be. But as long as he has his boy with him then maybe Regis can make it through these dark days.

“Your Majesty, this can't wait any longer.”

The King sighs, and looks up. A single man in a white coat stood at the doorway patiently waiting. Regis lets go of his son and joins the man outside with others that stand there silent and waiting.

The King demands, “What is the issue now?”

Regis feels so exhausted, the pain in his body from the day still remains and his eyes weigh heavy. For once in his life, he wished to sleep as soon as this was over.

“Your Majesty, we have attempted every check, every remedy and looked for a solution. But I am afraid there is nothing more we can do for him.”

“I'm aware, he must open his eyes on his own. You told me this yourself”

The man in the white coat shakes his head and takes a deep breath, the others don't seem to meet the King's eyes as he searches this sudden shift in mood. A deep fear suddenly sinks its claws into his back. It's as if he somehow already knew it would come to this.

“Your Majesty, the organs within your son are beginning to show signs of failure. We've had to resuscitate him once already. I'm sorry, but he will not live past this coming week.”

From head to toe, Regis goes absolutely numb. He steps back to find the comfort of a wall against his back. He could but bury his face in one hand, and simply weep.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a few days late from the sunday mark. I struggled with this chapter. Forgive me senpais.

_We interrupt the current programme with breaking news. In the early hours of the morning communications with the small town of Quin south of Fort Leide had suddenly ceased. Residents of the nearby town of Knox now fear for their lives as witness reports have emerged of machines, wild fire and a massacre occurring at both base and town with bodies having been spotted in the distance. No word has come from Fort Leides commanding officials nor from within the Crown palace -_

  


_~~~_

Cor runs, nearly colliding with a tall marble pillar as he skids around the corner. An official summons had come in the dead of night, and then hours later he heard what he had feared most. As he runs he's frantic, talking on his phone, trying to bring up every contact he can think of; no one knows what happened, the military base out in Leide had been radio silent for a long time and it was troubling. Even more so, that he's just hearing about now.

The doors of the council chambers are open and waiting for him, the last to arrive. Cor snaps his phone shut and looks ahead. Regis had to be there in those chambers, he can't just ignore the world anymore. They needed him now and so did he.

“Marshal.” The guard greets him and leads him inside, announcing his presence to the rather large audience before him.

Within the high walls commanders and captains of Insomnias defence force stand at the ready before the council seated at the long table. As Cor searches the room, he doesn't see Regis anywhere, the chair at the head of the table remains red and empty. He clenches his fist, and takes his place at the front of the other military greats. It seems they spared no one in this meeting; Chief of the military staff, Colonel of Insomnia's police, Head of the Palace Guard and Captain of the Glaive dutifully stand before the council.

What on Eos was going on? Cor tried to catch the Captain's eye, but the man was too focused on the council's movements. They all waited in silence, hoping against hope that the King heard their summons. Moments pass by and the minutes begin to tick away their precious time. Clarus finally stands, and addresses everyone with a finesse only he could manage.

“It seems we are left to our own devices for now, Good morning to you all. I am sure many of you are aware why we have all assembled here today at this hour.”

It was as everyone had feared, except worse. Clarus spared no detail.

Fort Leide had been attacked days ago, during reparations a huge raid had been carried out by a hoard of manless machines and monsters that may be of Niflheim origin. It should have been a rare event that would never occur again, yet in the early hours of the morning, the fort was struck again - lethal, this time. The town of Quin was left defenceless without electricity and protection, it would have been too easy for its hearth to have been raided and it's people massacred as the witnesses in Knox have claimed. No one is daring to go near the area, not with the enemy having vanished and with Knox the only remaining town in the region so close to the disaster.

“Whatever the scenario, I believe we cannot stand by and let this incident fall onto the care of the local jurisdiction. We know not if this is the work of Nifleheim finally moving again after nearly a decade of silence, but I believe otherwise. Knox is not safe, and if left unchecked our city is vulnerable.”

As Cor stood at attention, he frowned. Every fibre of his being believed Clarus' instinct that this was Nifleheim. It's what came with a decade of trust and intuitions; even when their brotherhood had been complete, they all knew they will never be free as long as the Empire still ruled. Others may forget but they can not. It was a simple conclusion.

Clarus sighs, he looked so tired. “As of this moment, no contact between the town and the outside can be established until the power lines are restored. But given the reports we suspect no survivors to emerge from this disaster. So I gather everyone here today for the purpose of allowing the might of the Lucian army to march again this threat, whatever it may be.”

Cor could feel the hairs on the back of his head rise in anticipation. The silence in the air was thick for less than a second, and Cor felt the dread oncoming. The echoes bounced off the walls as argument suddenly erupted. At the council table between anyone and everyone. One councillor got right to his feet, fixed his glasses and said his part.

“What you're suggesting goes against every letter of the Chain of Command, only the King can sanction the deployment of such a large force.”

Another decides to weigh in; “If these machines are truly Niflheim, then it's war that should be declared immediately! We should march to Gralea not to Leide!”

The many voices at the table drown each other out. Cor could see everything crumble before his eyes.

So many voices, so many words. “You're all mad! We know not of the true nature of this threat, sightings have confirmed it be mere animals running rampant. Insomnia should send recovery units, not armed soldiers.”

“You're wasting our time here Amacitia, there is no threat to our peace roaming around. Send the hunters and a recovery team and be done with this.”

“Absurd! How can you be so sure this is the work of animals? Machinery have been spotted, this must be the Empire-”

“We are not ready for war! His Majesty is already strained from sustaining the New Wall as-”

“No matter! we cannot do without the Kings wisdom and final word.”

Clarus did well to keep himself together, not so much from letting it get out of hand. “Councilmen please! With His Majesty gone it is now up to us to reach a solution, it is why I have gathered us all here. Now I turn your attention towards-”

Clarus was cut short as another interjected. This time a calm male voice addressed them all, the bald headed man was not a formal councilmen as his black suit indicated. But his sway in the politics of Insomnia was great, Cor recognised him instantly and was put on edge. Despite all that Clarus had achieved since the Great War he was still many years behind this particular councillor.

“With all due respect Councilor Amicitia, we should clarify the issue of the Glaive's captain. His transgressions will be of use in this discussion.”

There was a murmur of agreement across the table, some more avid than others. Shocked, Cor instantly looked towards Drautos for some sort of answer on what he could possibly mean. The Captain did not look back at him, his eyes were downcast.

“Very well. Proceed, Councilmen Lao.” Clarus said reluctantly, but his eyes betrayed it all. This was something he had been hoping to avoid.

“Please report on the assignment you conducted not long ago, Captain.” All eyes in the room honed in on the man with interest, Drautos finally looked up, speaking to him alone with no enthusiasm at all.

“On my own volition, I sent two of my scouts to Fort Leide a few days ago. I sent them again soon after I received word on Quin.”

The Councilmen nodded. “And what was the result of this deployment?”

Drautos' jaw went rigid, “They returned. Fort Leide is dead, an explosion from a gas tank may have taken out the power grid. Everyone else is just missing. Quin is injured, afraid, a few dead from the blast but nothing more. No machines, no animals, nothing for miles along the countryside. But there was fire and-”

“And as a consequence, you - without sanction and without _thought -_ have given the order for the combative deployment of the Kingsglaive in all its entirety. Within the next day. Do you see the issue here?”

Titus stayed silent, looking just about ready to hit someone.

Cor could but slowly close his eyes and shake his head; how did Titus believe he would be able to get away with such action? The outrage and confusion spread amongst them all and by the look on his old friends face, Clarus had not anticipated to be outplayed this soon.

“Most of my fellow councillors would agree that not engaging this 'threat' is the best course of action while the King is absent - because there is no threat.”

The Marshal could see it, Clarus' grand plan to convince the council to see the danger and act on it with help from the militants. It would be up in smoke if no one else would speak.

Councillor Lao said, “For the time being, the Glaive is to-”

“Councilmen, this is unwise,” said Cor, loud enough to quite literally command it. On his honour as the Crownsguard Marshal he had to protect his city and his King.

Lao was not pleased, but now he had the great councillors attention.

“I agree with action. I also believe I speak for those under my command; we are in accordance for a military solution to this. Councillor Amacitia would not have dragged us all here this morning without belief that this threat we face is serious. I trust him, and I trust Captain Drautos on his hunch. It may be no invasion, but I refuse to let this go.”

When no argument came from the men and woman that stood beside him, Cor knew he made the right decision.

Clarus suddenly said, “A re-purposed espionage team is what we propose. It only needs the vote of the majority, is quick to mobilise, and will attract no outside attention or risk civilians in the regions smaller towns.”

A voice that previously remained silent finally made herself heard. “I agree with this proposal. We play a dangerous game of chance the longer we wait. Something has caused a disturbance, it will not be left unchecked.”

Surprisingly it wasn't Lao that objected, but another who was much younger and sharper than most. “No, the barracks around Duscae and close to the wall should be alerted and given the order to monitor the countryside. We underestimate the power of our soldiers in being able to protect Lucis.”

Lao let out a sharp breath, “I believe this discourse will take much of the day. The Glaive is to be confined to the barracks along with its captain. No military regiment within Insomnia's walls will move unless given the order. Disobedience will lead to punishment. That is something the King does not need to officiate.”

Cor rebuts, “If the Captain dares to act, who's to say the rest may not? There is only so much I am willing to control-”

“You threaten to allow mass insubordination, Marshal?”

“No, I-”

“Do you not see that we too have our reasons not to act. Do you think we do not care for those affected by this? We don't act without the Kings word. Now, I believe it is time for the militants to be dismissed, there is much left to discuss amongst ourselves. Are we in agreement?”

It is a quite one, but no one objects.

Drautos spoke rather calmly. "With all due respect sir, this is bullshit."

He walks out of the chambers without permission.

Clarus as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and Cor stands there trying not to appear as stunned as he felt. Without choice Cor and the rest are guided out of the council chamber, many storm off disappointed, disheartened and angry. No doubt feeding off Titus' own malcontent. Cor watches in seething frustration as the doors close, the others are quick to leave before they dare let their grudges be heard.

The Marshal quickly catches up to Drautos coat tails as he retreats down the wide marble stairs.

“The balls you have! Is this what you mean by wanting to handle things yourself?! Trying to deploy the Glaive on your own? You've just rendered all regiments grounded in Insomnia”

Drautos keeps walking. “I won't apologise.”

Cor ground his teeth, letting out a frustrated growl. “Tell me you're not going to do anything.”

“Of course not. What they say, goes.”

The consequence of everything in the council room seemed too daunting to ponder. As Drautos walks, his pace quickens with a silent fury. Cor follows only a few paces behind, he can almost feel that raw emotion radiate from the Captain. It's hard not to understand how such a situation must have made Titus feel.

“I need to know Captain, what made you do something so foolish?”

Drautos lets out a sharp breath, “the Fort, the damage to Quin. The bodies of the dead, why that area was targeted twice, witness reports - nothing is making sense. But even then, the council did nothing when an entire fort was destroyed, and they still do nothing after Quin. Knox doesn't stand a chance.”

“Rumour says it was machines that attacked the area, but you say your scouts found otherwise. What is the truth?”

He shakes his head, “I'm not sure. But I know it's not right. You do too.”

Perhaps it was a soldiers instinct but he trusted what Drautos had sensed couldn't be completely wrong. Titus rarely made mistakes, if ever. Cor was reluctant to let his anger slide.

Cor suddenly stops in his tracks. “You intend to act on your own...”

Drautos slows to a pause a few steps away visibly hesitating. He remained still, not quite looking at the Marshal but still peering over his shoulder in wait.

“I'd be surprised if you - of everyone - tried to stop me.”

Cor said, “but to disobey the council; will you throw away everything that has been given to you?”

That seemed to trigger something within the Captain, he turned around and marched right up to the Marshal with narrowed eyes. It was raw palpable anger. “This isn't what the Glaive was founded on - isn't what the King had promised. No one has learnt a thing from Galahd, and now they let this happen.”

So much suddenly made sense. “Drautos...”

“Like you Marshal, I vowed to serve my King and country - now we aren't permitted to do either. They demand that we stand by and do _nothing_ while the dead remain unavenged. Yet we both know who did this.”

Cor knows his anger, forced to simply stand by and watch, each move leading to nothing but ruin. And yet the Captain was ready to lose everything without hesitation. On the other side, Drautos searched the Marshals eyes critically. Cor didn't shy away from it, and whatever Drautos saw made him take a few paces back in resignation.

The Captain let's go of the stiffness in his shoulders, “You agree with me, yet you won't join me in this...seems I misunderstood you.”

Cor feels a stab to the chest, and he finds he has to look away or bare his shame. It was simply a matter of who he is and what he does; he bows to the powers greater than himself, called upon when needed, to serve without fear or favour. Those were his vows to a King that needed him. He never made a promise to anyone else until now.

“You're right,” Cor suddenly says.

Drautos folds his arms and he waits. The Marshal knows he sounds foolish and the mere idea of it was absurd. But he needed to say it.

“Save yourself the trouble with the council, Captain. Don't drag the whole Glaive down with you. I'll go. I'll protect the towns and get rid of this threat - no one will be harmed on my honour as Marshal.”

Drautos looks at Cor critically for the longest time. The tightness in his eyes indicative of a disturbance he cannot shake. But he shook his head, “And what of _your_ position? You heard the council loud and clear. Not even a Marshal can escape reprimand.”

“Hardly a concern of mine. I'm sure you can understand.”

The Captain raised a brow.

Every second reaffirmed Cor's resolve. There was a way. There was finally a way to get rid of this darkness that had buried its claws into everything he loved. Cor continues, “If you act, there will be nothing to stop similar acts. I won't have you causing any more division in my guard - you will not mobilise the Glaive. That's an order. I will fix this myself. For His Majesty, for everyone.”

Drautos stood rigid, perhaps coming to terms with his own shock.

Cor still remembered that day, now so distant it was no longer vivid. It had been the day he vowed to be the King's sword and shield. For better or for worse, he would protect the King and his peace no matter what. His wife, his son, this Insomnia of theirs and the great land of Lucis. He needed to wake them all up himself, and if he doesn't succeed then at least Clarus will have cause to send an army marching.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I've been waiting to release this chapter for aaaages. It's finally here. A major case of the heart ouchies.

It was the light of dawn when a call came through to the Marshal's phone. Frustrated yet not surprised, the restless soldier snatched the ringing device from his bedside table.

“Clarus?” At this ungodly hour.

“ _Cor, my apologies for waking you. But this is urgent.”_

“I assumed as much.” He rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up, turning the bedside lamp on.

“What happened in that meeting?”

On the other line, Clarus gave a deep and irritable sigh, _“exactly as one can imagine, the council is divided on the matter. I have my supporters but it will not be enough without the King.”_

Of course, the only one who could reign in the crisis. “Is there...still no word from him?”

“ _His Majesty seems to think I alone am capable enough in handling the administration. Quite frankly I'm insulted.”_

Cor let out a small chuckle, “and now?”

“ _I take example from our Captain and propose my own solution. Are you willing to follow the orders, Marshal?”_

He instantly sits up, “for our King, I'll do anything.”

“ _Your assignment is this; prepare yourself, alongside ten good men and women of your choosing. Travel out to Leide, secure the status of Quin and Knox, and engage the threat directly. I trust you will know how to deal with whatever you face out there. But at the least, I can provide you with clearance to exit the city.”_

Cor slowly nods, already considering the candidates he would need. Soldiers, scouts and mages. But limited to only ten, any battle they encounter would already render the odds so heavily against them. It would be the worst of suicide missions.

“Only ten?”

“ _Any more and the checkpoints will report back to central security. It will rouse the attention of the council and immediately shut us down. It is the best I am able to give. Besides, you've faced worse odds. You're the best we have and I am willing to bet it all on you - don't let this escalate any further. I will be able to delay the reporting of your movements for a good few hours, so you must make haste with preparation. I will give you further detail in the morning.”_

“Understood.”

Clarus clears his throat. A long pause follows and then, _“Another thing, Marshal. I wish to make it clear that we are on our own in this endeavour. If something were to go awry, you will be on your own. Are you prepared for those consequences?”_

He needn't even have to clarify, it was no different to the many suicide missions that had come before on the King's order. Succeed, or don't come back at all; that's what it all comes down to in the end. Still, Cor still finds himself staring off into empty dark space.

“I've been ready since the day I met him.”

“ _Make haste Marshal, you leave at dawn tomorrow.”_  
  
  


~~~

The following day had come and gone much too quickly. With the Glaive grounded to the barracks and with a surprising armed guard forbidding entry, Cor had to select his soldiers from elsewhere. He could only imagine the contained fury Titus must be enduring to be confined in such a manner. But Cor couldn't spare him any more thought; rounding up his soldiers, getting transport, equipment, weapons and supplies without drawing attention had been challenging. Too many questions got asked and a close call had Cor on edge for the better part of the day.

Soon enough night fell. With the sun having long sought refuge beyond the horizon, darkness embraced the crown city once again. The stars were out and the moonlight was bright above the neon city lights. Cor had no time to stop and look, on the phone, the Marshal hurried his last conversation and ended the line. Everything was ready to go, the soldiers were on standby, Dion had taken over his duties, and his students got a well-deserved break. After a long hard day - things were finally going his way for once.

A calm befell the palace. A quiet serenity that all its occupants felt, so oblivious of what was to happen come dawn. In the dark and blue staff room, all alone Cor took a deep breath and looked out the tall glass windows. He rested a hand against it and closed his eyes; there was always a sense of peace that kept him at ease before a dangerous mission, but now it too has all but left him. There was nothing but discomfort. The bright colours of the city below couldn't reach the void of disquiet within, no matter how long he looked or how calmly he breathed. Not everything was complete. He couldn't leave yet, not with how things were teetering towards the edge.

If something were to happen, the truth would be buried with him. No matter how hard he tried to look around it, the idea just didn't sit well with him. He needed to get to Regis. Needed to hear his words once more before he regretted it - the goddess surely wouldn't punish him for being selfish just one more time.

So the Marshal left the dark room and rushed through the halls like the many times before. Renewed vigour carried him tirelessly, there was no stopping until he found the familiar doors to the outside. Cor pushed through them in a hurry and a chilling gust bit his cheeks as he stepped through to the outside. He pulled his coat a little tighter against the chill. The night was eerily quiet, and the guards stood in dutiful silence. The sounds of the city were so far away, even the chirp of crickets seem to have disappeared. The night was too empty and Cor was left puzzled; they have truly entered the eye of the storm.

Not all was completely lost. At the foot of the stairs, Regis was already making his ascent with the young guard behind him. It gave the Marshal an uplifting hope, this time it will be different, so he called out to him. The King takes a moment to listen before allowing one glimpse at the Marshal above; exasperation, concern, perhaps even a little apprehension is what Cor had expected to see looking back at him. For all he knew, nothing had changed since they last saw one another.

Regis greeted him with none of it, Cor is shaken by what he sees staring straight back.

There was no care or concern, no will and no life, just a horrible and grey emptiness that hung over him. It was like looking into the eyes of a broken statue, standing by an old stone tomb that had long since rotted away. What on Eos happened to him? He's never looked so absent and resigned. Not even when the Old King died.

The Marshal goes to meet him halfway. Every part of him just wanted to protect his King, even if he couldn't see how.

“Your Majesty, can we talk?”

The young guard Crowe is quick to dart in between them. “Please, His Majesty won't be speaking with anyone tod-”

She had her way more than once, so the Marshal grabs the guardswoman by the shoulders and pulls her aside. Caught off guard, she stumbles but doesn't quite fall. A soft curse follows Cor behind his back. Regis keeps walking as if nothing concerned him.

“Your Majesty, I am concerned about your health.”

At last, Regis slowed to a stop. He quietly says, “Speak Marshal, you did not come here with my health in mind.”

Cor tries his hardest not to let that sting bother him. “The situation is grave and the council is lost without your guidance and order. The Kingdom needs you. Please come back to us.”

The monarch keeps his eyes forward, considering his words but saying nothing. Cor is careful to keep in step as Regis walks on, still carrying himself tall and proper. But there's no response, and Cor pushes once more - the King of Lucis can't just keep burying himself in misery.

He pleads, “maybe I'm not making myself clear. Something has occurred. Innocent Lucians have died, there is some unseen plot to-”

Regis stops, “There is always a plot, Marshal. Always something occurring just beyond our view. The machines Clarus spoke of - our homes will be besieged by them, again and again. Loved ones are destined to fall, innocents doomed to see it all happen. It will never stop; this cycle of war that has entrapped us.”

The Marshal stares at him, wide-eyed. This must be a bad dream, this shadow of a King. “Your....Majesty?”

“Perhaps this is my time, the inevitable end of my dynasty. It seems the stars were wrong, but at last a conclusion to this struggle. Niflheim never had such perfect timing...”

Cor shook his head slowly, not believing his ears and the thoughts in his own mind. This is not the King, this is not his King. Not the man full of vigour, dreams and hope that he so faithfully vowed to serve long ago. He didn't know the stranger in front of him, this stranger that he wanted so much.

His voice rises and the blood in his veins begins to heat up, he seizes the King's arm. “Stop with that talk. You must do something, you cannot give everything away so easily. Give the order for the Crownsguard to mobilise, the army or the Glaive - anyone!”

Regis finally seems to show signs of life, he narrows his eyes at Cor's grip.

“All of us will truly fall if you allow nothing to happen!”

Breaking the hold and snatching his wrist was the guard that darted right back, she was bravely furious as she faced the Marshal, “Sir, unhand the King!”

Regis never broke his cold composure, but he gently touched her shoulder and a little bit of warmth escaped for her alone, “there will be no need for that. You must be exhausted, go home and rest, Crowe.”

“If you're certain, your Majesty.”

She wasn't convinced but reluctantly leaves them both alone to head for the Regalia. Maybe it was paranoia or even jealousy, but it left him with questions unanswered. Where the fondness the King had for an insignificant guard had come from, was beyond Cor. He still recalls the day Regis stopped speaking to him like that, the day where everything changed. What it must be like to receive such words again. But it wasn't his place to question it, so reluctantly he bites his tongue.

The King looks over his shoulder towards the stars in the sky as if in a dream. “Listen well, Marshal. The council are at war with one another, they are panicked. Niflheim hasn't moved in a long time, now suddenly this? If Clarus cannot do this then they cannot save the city anymore - it will be too-”

Cor's jaw goes rigid, his own panic taking hold. “I-I cannot believe this.”

Regis murmurs, “it is true.”

Cor pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to hold himself and his unsteady heart together.

He hisses, “you, King of Lucis, can't just lay back and let this happen - let the world do to _us_ as it pleases.”

The burn of tears in his eyes was unbearable, this can't be happening. “Or you will let us be slaughtered like the _queen_?!”

The King snapped to attention and glared at him as if he were viciously burnt, a starburst of emotion and life came rushing back all directed to one moment of terrible fury. In a quiet but firm voice, the King says, “I will have you punished if any mention of her _ever_ passes your lips again. Do we have an understanding?”

Cor can almost taste the air of anger, it only fuelled his fire even further. He was absolutely sick of walking on eggshells.

“Then do your duty as King!” He snapped.

“Duty?! Ah, you must certainly know everything there is to know about 'duty', don't you? And yet you can sleep soundly at night, absolved. You see Cor, my duty no longer absolves me. I am broken.”

“W-what are you saying?”

He continues to walk up the stairs and Cor faithfully follows.

“Our hands are forever stained. The Goddess always collects our debts one way or another. My wife, my son, and now-”

Regis suddenly stops and takes one look at the man before him, one filled with such uncertainty. Gone was the flame of his anger in the blink of an eye. They say nothing to one another. Cor lets Regis look, lets him reach out and tenderly touch the other mans cheek. It took all the Marshals willpower not to press his hand closer in return, the King's warmth was the worst of temptations. His touch even more so, Cor was lost to the feel of it on his skin. Oh, how he craved it.

The King says it so gently like they were the last two people on Eos. “I want nothing more to do with anything, my duty, this kingdom, the council, you...nothing.”

The ground might as well have collapsed beneath him. Cor is left reeling in the wake of the ice he feels against his cheek, it nearly burns him right down to the heart. He blinks once, then twice, left to turn those words over and over. This just can't be happening.

Grey eyes are as bleak as their future. The King keeps his eyes lowered, thinking as he takes back his hand and pushes onwards.

“I must see my son now.”

Anger comes back so quickly he finds no will to suppress it any longer. Cor snaps.

“Regis! You're foolish if you think you can so easily cast aside everything entrusted to you. The man I see is not the man I once knew. You cannot stop being a King - lives are in your hands whether you will it or not, until now you never ran from it all your life. But now your people need you, _I_ need you!”

The King doesn't stop, his voice comes so unsteady. “I see no destiny for us, please Cor. I can no longer be.”

This hopelessness, this forceful shove into oblivion the King was giving him. The Marshal finally loses it, he seizes the Kings wrist, pulling forcefully just as they make it at the top of the stairs. Regis stops dead in his tracks, he looks at Cor with narrowed eyes. Completely and utterly offended. Never has his Marshal used this much force against him, if only Cor could have seen how dangerous the waters had become.

“I warn you, unhand me, Marshal.” He commands.

“Please hear me, my King! I will fix this, entrust me to take care of everything if I must. Just give me the command to -”

“what depths would you not go to, on my command.”

It forced Cor into a pause for a moment, letting the stinging barb sink into his heart. That was unfair, the many things he did for him without question. But there was no room for giving up yet. They couldn't part ways like this. Regis isn't himself, he had to push. So Cor summoned up the courage to speak something he had held onto so preciously.

“Your Majesty, I wish to say-”

“Cor, release me. I need to see my son now,” came the second stern warning.

Cor holds onto him tighter, desperate. He will never know the truth if he doesn't say it now. “I understand, but just allow me a moment to say-”

Regis had no interest left. The terrible darkness had consumed him whole and all the wonderful kindness from the King had rapidly faded. “Marshal, this is your _last_ warning. Unhand me.”

“My King, I love you.”

Cor thought he saw something in the way Regis caught his breath. He thought it was a good thing, that maybe he would be able to feel what they once shared before he left. So he stepped forward, held Regis in his hands so gently, and closed the distance between them with eyes fluttering shut. He took the leap of faith and bared his heart right on his sleeve so selfishly. He wanted to kiss him, just once.

He never made it.

The King suddenly pushed back and slapped him with the back of his hand so hard an echo resonated in the courtyard.

Cor staggered back in stone cold shock, narrowly missing the stairs steep edge. They both look at each other, caught in bewilderment. The Marshal gasped as suddenly a heat rushed over his lips and dripped from his chin. He quickly cupped his mouth as it began to pour and drip onto the concrete. Regis takes longer to comprehend it all, he looks at the trembling hand that tore the skin of Cor's upper lip. There it was, the ring of the Lucii stained blood red.

Cor looks down at his own hand in alarm, it's covered in his wet, bright, crimson blood. Never once has Regis ever made him bleed like this on purpose. The Marshal felt nothing but a horrid guilt sink to the depths of his stomach; this was his own fault. Who was he fooling? He pushed too far, it was absurd to think that he could ever hope to feel something so wonderful ever again.

The Kings message was loud and clear as daybreak. A sword can never be anything but.

Regis doesn't even know where to begin. “I...Cor...”

Cor tries to stem the flow of blood and clear his eyes of soundless tears that escape him. How foolish and pitiful he must look, needing to be chastised like a child, bleeding and a complete mess. What dishonour he must bring to himself. So he nurses his shame and humiliation in a troubling silence - never again will he allow it to happen. 

Then all at once everything inside him suddenly shut down.

“G-Goodnight, your Majesty.”

Without another plea or word, Cor doesn't wait for Regis to dismiss him. He escapes down the stairs.

“Wait, Cor!” Regis calls out after him.

  
  


 


	11. Chapter 11

  
  


He swings his sword forward one last time, tearing the fabric off the dummy's belly and leaving it shaking on its wooden post. Huffing, Cor takes a few steps back, sweat runs down his hot forehead and drips off the edge of his nose, he wipes it away with his wrist as it falls.

It was hopeless. So he lets himself sit on the soft padded mats of the training room. All alone and in a turmoil of his own.

He's not had pre-battle anxiety in years, and never like this. No doubt as to where they were coming from, but even so he can't carry them with him come the dawn. Cor brought up the sword and examines its edge; the chipped blade, the scratches running along it's length, the shine of the metal lost to months worth of practice.

He chuckles; _'-_ _The sword won't complain to the master while it's in pieces_ _'_

Such irony, Cor thinks. It brings a smile to his face as he waits for his body to cool down. He sits just watching the high lights dance off the dull steel. In a few hours, dawn will arrive; he will meet his chosen soldiers at the barracks and depart in a small convoy. Then a two hour venture into Leide and the great unknown. Every deployment carries its risk, but the Marshal felt deep down that this would be no ordinary mission - for once he felt fear.

Once his heart and muscles have settled into a cool, he tosses the sword to the side. Not caring where it goes or how loud a noise it makes. He's as ready for combat as he could ever be.

“Thought I might find you here.”

Surprised, Cor finds Drautos a few paces behind looking between him and the abandoned sword. The Marshal had to cock his head at the man, he was a whole other person when he wasn't in Captain's gear. He could almost pass for an ordinary man walking in the peaceful streets of Insomnia with his boots, trousers and form fitting white shirt. But Cor remains quiet, turning away and simply resting in place.

“As usual, it's you here. Training at the most uncommon hour.” Titus picks up the sword and walks over to him all nonchalant.

Without a hint of curiosity, “preparing for something in particular?”

“You know. Why bother asking?” Cor finally looks up, whatever light in his eyes shone dim, it caught the Captain off guard. His eyes then flicker briefly to the prominent red wound on the sitting Marshals upper lip. He wasn't as discreet as he thought he was and Cor licks his lips, not able to help how sheepish it suddenly made him.

“In case there was any doubt...clearly not,” Titus says warily.

“I'm sorry, I'm in no mood to spar further.”

Titus quietly places the sword back on the weapon rack, he makes a point to sit beside the Marshal on the mats. Cor doesn't complain, he barely has his mind in the room. They say nothing to each other for the longest time, silence and the gentle rhythm of their breaths accompany them as the minutes tick by in the static silence.

“Marshal-”

“Just Cor, Titus.”

A beat of silence, perhaps shock, maybe another hit of the unexpected. Then, “what will you do now?”

Without hesitation, Cor says, “what I was made for. I leave at dawn and do what needs to be done.”

“Will you keep your word?”

Cor frowns and looks at him, “which words, exactly?”

“That you will protect them, the towns in Leide.”

It wasn't something Cor had been expecting. “My word is my honour, Drautos. I will keep it's people safe. Quin and Knox both, with my life if I have to.”

“Thank you.” It was the most honest and heartfelt thing Cor may ever hear from him.

“Those places...must mean a lot to you-” Cor starts but never gets to finish.

Without warning, the Captain reaches out and grips Cor by the back of his neck and draws him in. Drautos kisses him hard, nearly feverish as he holds Cor in place. The Marshals lips were so soft against his own and the steely grip he has on short brown strands only get tighter.

Cor had no time to make sense of anything, he was being devoured alive by another man. It was all touch and instinct, and it fed the desperate hunger deep inside himself. He wanted the touch, the comfort, whatever connection he could get - anything to make it feel remotely better again. Titus certainly delivered. He burned like a furnace, his hand hot against Cor's neck, and oh so warm on his mouth. His breath comes short and quick and he grunts against him, refusing to part in case it spelt the end for them. When no denial came, he grew bold. The Marshal shuddered as adventurous hands move down his firm chest and come to rest on his thighs. His trousers the only barrier between eager hands and hungry flesh, and the tendrils of excitement spread to his groin.

Cor pulls away only briefly, gasping to catch both mind and breath, “s-shit, I don't think we should-”

The Marshal looks down and Titus' ghosted a hand over the bulge between his legs, firmly he stokes the heat with the back of his hand. Halting all train of thought Cor shamelessly moaned, as soon as the sounds leave his lips he grits his teeth, his face burns red in shame. How easily he melted under the warm hands of another.

“Nnngh!” Titus freely grabbed and squeezed in all the right ways. Pleasure and pain shoot from his groin making his toes curl in his boots. He's tingling, he's swollen, throbbing in arousal. Who cares about right or wrong, about loyalty and betrayal, he just wants to come right there against the other mans hand, however shameless it may be. The more Titus touched, the worse it got, all sense of thought was banished and Cor found himself close to the edge ready to just fall forward in mindless bliss.

Perhaps this is what was missing all along, just this. Nothing or anyone else.

But soon enough, Cor found his back on the soft mats. Drautos was on top of him on all fours, looking straight into his soul and leaving Cor with no secret left to hide. The world was completely shaken to the core: one look into eyes that were so focused yet distant was all it took for Cor to immediately grip onto the Captain's broad chest. A sudden sadness washed over him, this isn't what he wants, he sees eyes he doesn't want to see.

Titus asks, “is this how it is? Or did I push too far?”

The Marshal hesitates, guilt mounting by the minute. “I'm sorry, the fault is mine. I don't know if I can-”

“Why deny yourself this?”

The Marshal breathes out a low and long breath, “no, I won't use you like that...I won't disrespect you and...and-”

Drautos frowns, sceptical. “Your vows don't go this far. Surely.”

“N-No but-”

He comes closer, so close the tips of their nose touch. His voice is low and rough, eyes suddenly so intent on him. “No one can ever own you. Do what you must, here and now.”

“You say that like you know it better than anyone...”

Maybe it was the way Cor held his breath or the nervous look he cast Titus. But the man didn't tear Cors clothes off and savagely take him on the floor like the Marshal had expected. He was thankful when all he did was run those large hands beneath his shirt, leaving a fire trail of where his palms stroked the firmness of his stomach.

“You could say I've lived my life by it.”

How Cor wished he knew what Titus was thinking, behind each word a thousand more remained hidden. Even so, he closes his eyes and nods, grabbing a fist full of his shirt and pulling Titus close. He is suddenly everywhere all at once, his deep and rich scent filled Cor's nose, throwing his head in a spin. His entire front was pleasantly warm with Titus' large frame resting on him. Not enough to crush him, but the pressure on his chest was oddly secure. There, Cor takes a deep breath as Drautos undoes the belts and buttons of their clothes. His touch was shocking, and even more when he dared to slip beneath his briefs and cup his naked erection.

“A-ah!” The Marshal took a sharp breath, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.

The sound of his ecstasy escapes him again and again. Thick fingers stroke and squeeze his cock to its full length before roaming through dark curls, leaving no corner unexplored. Titus finally pries Cor out from the confines of his underwear. He grunts against the Marshals neck, each breath short and harsh as their clothes are pulled away. Titus is greeted by long and pale thighs that tremble under his touch.

Cor can feel it in the way Titus presses against him, grinding his bare erection against Cors. He's thick, hard and hot for him, it's almost surreal that he's desired this much.

Cor manages to speak. “You want me...this much. Y-you of all people. W-why? I don't understand.”

Drautos breathes out louder than he intended. He stops moving, then he looks up. It was clearly something Drautos didn't want to discuss with the way his eyes harden. But his conviction makes the Marshal wonder if words could even convey what it is he thinks about. Silently, Drautos reaches up and runs his thumb gently over the raw wound on Cor's lips. He leans down and kisses the side of his neck, chaste and tender. Cor is left reeling in shock.

Titus finally speaks, “I don't know.”

Cor felt it was a lie, nonetheless, something deep inside his heart stirred as their lips touched once more. So gentle and so honest that it broke Cors heart, what it would have been like if they had met sooner before Cor fell into the chains he could never be free of.

“How can that be enough for you?”

Drautos murmurs, “Just say my name. It will be enough.”

“Alright.”

Cor closes his eyes and together with Titus, they pull away whatever defences they have left for a brief moment in time.

Was he being reckless? Driven by the worst of motivations? Consumed with guilt? Maybe. Not that what Cor feels should ever matter in the grand scheme of the world. When dawn finally approached, Titus was still beside him.

When dawn finally approached, Titus was still beside him. But he feels stone cold inside.

~~~  
  
  


There in the barracks beside the Walls largest checkpoint, the violet light of dawn pours through the garage. Cor waits until the last of the equipment is loaded into the truck, the garage is thankfully empty save for the chosen soldiers moving about in preparation. Supplies were marked off and duffel bags tossed onto the back of the vehicles, heavy boots rushed across the concrete and the odd snap of a testy soldier could be heard.

Clarus is late to arrive, but he waves as he descends the stairs with his escort. Cor waits for him to come down and join him, arms folded and for once very glad to see a friendly face.

“Almost ready?” The counsellor asks.

“I'm still waiting on two more, then I'm gone.”

“Excellent. Good, everything is on order so you should hit no problems on the road.”

Cor murmurs in agreement. They watch cautiously as life continues in the garage, and as the silence between them grows, Cor dreads what the man will speak of next. In the past few weeks, he's rapidly come to understand the meaning of silence.

Clarus then says, “Have you spoken to His Majesty, recently?”

Cor shifts from one leg to the other and looks away. “Yes.”

“And?” He asks with rapt interest.

“It would have been better if I hadn't. He's washed his hands cleaned of everything here. We are truly on our own now.”

Clarus nods his head, pensive as he thinks.

“You're not surprised?” Cor asks.

“No. He spared me a few words.”

Cor suddenly turns to him. “Really? What did he say to you?”

Clarus looked around, even the garage at such an early hour with only the most trusted soldiers around had him concerned. Clarus doesn't meet his eyes, the man suddenly looked graved. “The young Prince Noctis may not last past today.”

It was like a splash of ice water. Cor had to take a step back as the words left the councilmen's mouth. At first, he didn't want to believe it at all, he heard no word about Noctis. Not a single thing until then. For all Cor knew he was recovering, but this? How can such a thing be possible?

In a hushed tone Clarus continued. “Such information would cause great public concern for the line of the Caelums. And with our King as he is, I wish no word of this to surface until absolutely necessary.”

Regis; it must be as if the entire world has fallen onto his shoulder like the fabled Archaen. How long can he hope to continue to carry his burden when he can barely hold on? Cor searched the purple sky for some sort of explanation from the Goddess of this cruelty, an explanation that will never come. Oh, Regis...he just couldn't blame him.

“How was he, when he told you?” Cor pried.

“Calm. He's come to accept it.”

“Marshal, sir.” Cor turns around. The soldier that greets him salutes, dressed for combat and face barely visible behind his visor.

“Are we ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Clarus gently pats Cor on the back, “Focus on the task at hand. I wish you luck on the road. Will only eight soldiers be sufficient?”

Cor sighs and runs a hand through his hair. They can't afford to wait for the missing two any longer than they already have. “It will have to be.”

“The sooner you depart the better.”

“Yes. Clarus, please take care of everything while I'm gone.”

The councilmen looks Cor in the eye and smiles knowingly. “I will do what I can for our King. Worry not.”

To say that his concerns were not eased would be a complete lie. But Clarus bid him farewell and quickly left. Cor turned his attention to the busy garage and rounded the last of his soldiers for the briefing. The city is still dark and they are venturing far out into dangerous territory, as a convoy, they are to stick together until the landing zone. With only eight, they need to stick to his command now more than ever.

In the middle of debriefing, the metal door from the high gantry opens. Cor pauses; no one is meant to be here aside from them. He braces himself for any resistance. But making his way down the stairs with two more soldiers in tow was Drautos.

“Captain?”

“At ease Marshal, I heard you were down two men this morning.”

Cor meets him halfway as he crosses the garage floor. The two that followed him were tall as they were burly, dressed from head to toe in Glaive uniform fully equipped with duffel bags of their own. Drautos motions for them to join the convoy, and they do so without a word, tossing their gear into one of the trucks.

“Your timing is finally right, Captain.”

“About as good as yours Marshal, glad I caught you in time.” He said, looking only mildly puffed. He must have rushed here.

“I must ask; can they be trusted?”

He nods. “Yes. Where you're going, you will need them. They know the area well and they know the consequences even more.”

It was the only good thing Cor had heard in quite a while. He was more than grateful that it was Drautos who came to him - in fact, he always seemed to come when he needed it most. The Marshal takes a moment to turn the thought over in his head a little more.

“I'm thankful for your help.”

“Just get the job done.” He turns heel to quickly leave. Seems like the Captains facade had returned for now, and it doesn't bother the Marshal at all.

“Drautos, wait. You know what this will mean. Are you not concerned with what will become of you after this? The council will eventually know.”

The Captain pauses, he just offers the Marshal a look of resignation.

“For hearth and home,” he said and promptly left.

  
  


 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Regis paces back and forth across the grass with urgency. A few steps away Crowe sits on the bench anxiously drumming her fingers on the stone surface, holding herself back from saying anything. She had good sense; the King will hear none of whatever anyone has to say. He curses everything around him with his heart. The Goddess, himself, his fate, the fate of his son and kingdom.

The world around him is crumbling. His son is at deaths door and his Kingdom under threat from what he knows is Niflheim once more. In pure honesty, Regis was surprised the empire hadn't seized the opportunity sooner, but the timing could not be more perfect.

He finally stops pacing, exhausted and near out of breath. Perhaps it really is time for his end, his strength finally at it's limit, his limbs weak and useless. What he wouldn't give to sleep and never see the light of day again. And yet he keeps pacing, fuming from a fire in his heart and an anger that refused to fade.

It was second nature to retreat to this peaceful garden as soon as he woke, it was his only form of absolution. Now it felt like an iron cage he couldn't escape from, one he had built for himself.

“Why am I here...” he murmurs.

He could be home holding his son in his final hours instead of waiting for it to happen in some far away place. He is no father, much less a King if he sat back any longer.

He loved his son too much.

Regis looks to the statue of the Goddess, and begs her forgiveness one last time. This will be his last visit for a long while. He wordlessly makes straight for the Regalia, caught off guard Crowe stands up at attention, awkwardly fixing her blazer.

“Your Majesty?”

“Take me back to the palace, immediately.”

Blinking in surprise, she smiles, even through the endless ringing of the phone.

“Yes, of course! Let me just take this call...”

“No. We can deal with it once we arrive.”

Crowe was eager to return, given the constant breaking of the speed limit on the highway. The King was surprised the police hadn't yet caught a speeding Regalia, not that he minded at all. Their arrival was so soon and so sudden the palace guard fumbled as he tried to give the order to open the gates. It won't be long before the news spreads, he must make for his sons room quickly before being pulled from all directions.

Arriving at the loading bay Regis rushes out and makes it to the stairs. He stops right in his tracks as he feels something wasn't quite right about what he was seeing in front of him, or rather, who he didn't see. It was crushing not to find the familiar face of the Marshal patiently waiting as he always did. But then again, it was still daylight. He slows his pace up the stairs as he quickly remembers; after what he had seen last night, he wouldn't expect Cor to come running to him now.

He pushes back anymore thought of it and races through the maze like corridors of the palace.

“Your Majesty?”

Was it really that much of a shock for the palace staff to see him here? Had he truly...been so distant? The King greets them hurriedly as he climbs the long winding stairs upwards. He's close, he knows he is close. He makes it to the resident quarters and strides down the marble halls to find the physicians congregate just outside his sons door. Regis stops, he remembers this moment vividly.

No, he cannot be too late, he can't be!

“What is going on?” he demands.

“Your Majesty? You're here! We've been trying to contact you.”

“I'm here, now speak!”

He says, “It's about your son, it seems he has done the impossible. He woke up just moments ago calling for-”

Regis didn't stay to hear the rest, he pushes past them and barges into his sons room with a strength he was convinced had gone.

There he was, sleeping on his side and cuddling the moogle plush doll close. He rushes to his bed side and orders the waiting nurses out immediately. The room was as quiet as a sleeping baby, and Regis gets on his knees unable to contain the swell of joy in his chest. It was too good to be true, just last night he was as thin as a stray dog. Now the colour is back on his skin and he looks so content to be asleep, finally breathing without a ventilator.

He touches his sons cheek, and tears stream down his face. Oh, he is so warm and _alive_.

Noctis suddenly yawns, and in anger pushes away the intruding hand to bury his face deeper against the softness of his toy. It brings the brightest smile to Regis' face, truly the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on. He is well and alive by the strength befitting a Caelum. His heart only just containing such happiness, such elation and relief that all is not yet lost.

He still has this one important thing left to him.

“Noctis...” He gently whispers, doing his best to wipe away the tears that just wont stop coming.

Slowly, Noctis sighs and opens his little eyes to the world. Eos and the very heavens themselves seem to come to a grinding halt at such majesty. Every little move he made was a gift from Etro herself, like a newborn all over again.

For the first time in so long, Regis offers his boy a smile. “Are you alright, my son?”

“Dad?” His voice is groggy and the remnants of his sickness can still be heard in the rasp of his chest. But he is alive. So very alive.

Noctis reaches out for his father, his bright eyes shine with fresh tears and Regis immediately takes his boy in his arms and holds him tight. He could no longer control himself as he feels his own son begin to cry against his chest.

“Dad...please stay.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Not anymore.

~~~

  
  


Such miracles always had a heavy cost, Noctis lost all feeling and control of his legs. He can already envision the long years of therapy and treatment that they will face. Yet it didn't seem like the tragic ending Regis had envisioned, his son lives to see another day, his legs certainly won't be holding him back anytime soon.

Noctis cleans his plate of everything, including the veggies. The day is full of miracles indeed, it made the King hope again.

It was difficult telling him about his legs, but he accepted his new condition begrudgingly, he just wanted his father to hold him again. So Regis stayed for the rest of the day confined in his sons room. He helped him eat and comb the knots out of his hair. Noctis was more than thrilled by it, very rarely did Regis ever offer him this much time. It was worth the tired joy Regis saw in those little eyes.

Thankfully, nothing changed by nightfall, even with the cautious warning of the physicians. Noctis seemed to be growing stronger by the minute. So, Regis rested on his sons bed, leaning against the headboard. The prince listened against his side with little arms latched onto the King's waist, though not quite reaching the other side. He was reading to his son, a fairytale he knew many times over. By the ending, Regis placed the book down.

Something was pressing against the Kings mind all day, it was unstoppable. Sooner or later, Noctis will have to know about his mother. If he remembered, he gave no sign of it so far. So he tested the waters.

“Noctis, do you remember what happened?”

There was a silence. Regis feared he may have spoken much too soon. But he felt Noctis nod.

“Shes...gone.” His voice was unsteady. His injury had not spared him the sight of his mothers death. The prince remained quiet, holding his breath before bursting into tears. Regis leaned down and kissed his forehead, he knows that pain so well.

“Be at ease my son. She is it at peace with our ancestors. It is up to us to be strong and let her go.”

Words could only do so much. For most of the night Regis comforts his son as he finally grieves for his mother. Letting out the tears and anguish just as his father had done before.

Eventually, Noctis falls asleep once more and is carefully tucked into bed. Regis leaves the room, closing the door securely behind him. Noct will rest well now having let everything out, but the coming days will be no easier. Auleas death will not be quickly forgotten. But for now he is certain Noctis will no longer scream into the night.

One step at a time.

Minutes tick by, and it is enough for him to build up the courage to finally walk about in his own palace. So grand, so open and regal, fit for a King and no one else, it was almost a lonely feeling as he studied the polished statuettes and high rise art on the walls. The hour grows late and the palace guards salute as he walks by. The stars are the last to greet him as he steps outside.

Two guardsmen stand watch over the bay entrance. “The both of you are dismissed, I am fine to stand watch of this place.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

They leave the King alone, and patiently Regis stands and looks up into the light of the stars in the sky. This is what it must be like to be in the Marshals shoes. To stand in wait against the cold lucian night. Maybe Regis was hoping for too much now; for the Marshal to still be able to come here at the late hour just to speak with him.

Witnessing him embraced in the arms of another with such...passion, gave the King a very clear idea of what had changed in his absence. The memory is difficult to reconcile. Bright lights. The strong smell of polished wood. The Captain. His Marshal.

He never truly pondered the thought that Cor was allowed to find company with anyone he pleased. The man always assured absolute devotion to the King and King alone, always there without fail. To picture him attached to another was near impossible, Regis was the only thing in the Marshals eyes, the only thing he truly lived for.

The Immortal said so himself, so many times.

Regis squeezes his own hand, trying to calm the tremor that runs through. There was no other that could ever be more faithful, now that pure devotion was tainted. If only the King could undo every way he had touched him, revert things to how they were. He doesn't blame Cor for seeking out another that would embrace him more tenderly.

He won't blame him a single bit.

Cor was owed an apology, an explanation, so much he needs to try and say to him to even begin to cover the divide between them. He will make things right with him no matter how long it will take.

As the hours tick by and the stars gleam, the revelation becomes crystal clear. It's a painful one.

His Marshal won't be coming for him tonight.

  
  


~~~~

  
  


What is it about the night that always seem to take pleasure in his suffering? Cor presses his back against the hard wall of the iron containers. He looks up at the gleaming stairs in the night sky, and blood pours down the side of his face as he catches his breath. The King should see how beautiful it is tonight, it is a sight worthy of him. It brings Cor peace, even just a little.

The smell of burning magic, iron and blood assaulted his senses. The rattling of gunfire was non-stop, making his ears ring unbearably. Worst of all were the screams of the fallen and the heavy march of machines as they blast their way through buildings. They had been right all along, everything they had witnessed as soon as they got to Quin confirmed what they feared. But helpless Lucis was no longer, not while the Marshal held his sword.

A deep stomp stops short at the other side of the Marshal's refuge. _He_ can sense him there, hiding.

Brave as they were, no one could have ever anticipated the power they were to face, and with ten soldiers history won't fault them for not fighting hard enough.

Against the mighty General Glauca, Cor did all he could.

The Marshal emerged, legs heavy and arms weak. He stared the General at whatever crevice on his helmet lead to the eye. The man behind the mask was cunning indeed, reading his moves like a book over and over again.

“Again...” He growls, blood oozing from the thin cut on his throat. He can't give up, not while he still has life in him.

The General silent as he was, raised his sword once more in response. Cor's hand shakes as he grips his sheathed katana tightly, death and defeat are no option no matter how much he trembles. He will protect all that he loves to the bitter end. So he says a silent prayer and pulls forth his blade, gripping it in both hands.

From the jaws of defeat – peace...

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this chapter was written prior to Cors canon age being 15 during the War 30 years ago. He is still young, but not underage in this chapter.

 

“Cor, how are you holding up?” says Regis as he sits by the mans bandaged right leg.

“Fine,” says the young man, yet he can't hide the painful edge in his voice as Prince Regis looks at him with worry.

The whole region of Duscae had succumbed to heavy torrential downpour. The outside was grey with rain and only a few steps ahead remained barely visible. The young soldier and Prince had taken refuge beneath a flat rock embedded against a slope. The gap large enough for the two to seek refuge under, alongside their resting chocobos that had taken them on their journey. Somewhere along the way, they had gotten lost from Clarus and Cid.

Their clothes are wet but not quite soaked, the major problem being the dirt and grass stains on their backsides from all the shuffling over the ground. Wiping his smooth, bare face of raindrops Regis takes out his phone and tries ringing again. “Cid? Can you hear me?”

There was silence at first, but then a scratched outburst of a voice, and Cor is for once glad to hear the old man.

“Oh good! You're both safe. Cor and I are hiding out on the hillside. We should wait until this rain blows over. Stay sheltered, the both of you. I'll see you soon.”

Cor tests his leg. It had been foolish to push himself too far in battle, he wouldn't have fallen off his bird otherwise.

“Your Highness, I'm sorry for weighing you down.”

Regis looked at him with shock. “No Cor, you need rest. Altissa isn't going anywhere any time soon.”

“I don't want to put you at risk here, if we're found by some animal wanting our hideout.”

The Prince sits beside Cor, the both of them resting against the sides of snoozing chocobos. Surrounded by the yellow feathers of warmth, Regis smiles.

“We will be fine. Besides, if we're found, it would be my turn to protect you for once.”

A humble sentiment for a Prince. One Regis should not be able to afford to a common soldier like Cor, but still does so. It makes the young man blush, and he fidgets with the grass beneath him to distract from the rapid thumping of his heart.

You're not supposed to; he thinks.

The both of them watch the rain pour, water dripping along the edges of the rock and over them like a fluid curtain. Since leaving Insomnia Regis has never seen such wild weather like this, nothing he had read prepared him for what it was truly like. Such heavy rain and how oddly calming it made him feel. The smell of wet green grass and the peaceful rhythm of pattering – this was a wild Lucis, and he quite liked it. Glad he was to enjoy it with only one other person instead of the lively group.

“I'm truly sorry, your Highness.”

Regis can sense something was on the other mans mind. “Why are you sorry, Cor?”

“I promised to crush everything that stopped us. But the Nif machines? I never knew anything like them before. And now I'm useless to you.”

“That's the empire for you. You can't blame yourself for it. We were outmatched and outnumbered in that valley. You saved me from becoming a pancake when you took out that airship, that meant something.”

Cor shuffled on his side and looked the Prince in the eye.

“They'll just keep coming. How can we ever live peaceful lives with those things so close to us? It's useless; why bother fighting at all with the whole world against you?” Regis stared at him in shock. Not the sort of thing he would expect Cor to suddenly bring up right now.

Cor is a young yet extraordinary soldier having yet to learn so much, so he gave him a concession. The things Morus had taught helped make sense of this war, or at least cope with it. Regis himself spent many nights sleepless just thinking, wishing it could all go away too. But life is never that easy – they can't just run, perhaps he has come to accept that.

Pensive, Regis starts, “It certainly seems that way doesn't it...”

Even though he cannot see it, Regis knows the vast planes and high mountains of Duscae are up ahead beyond the cascade of rain. He continues, “Do you remember the first time I showed you my home at the palace? What did you see?”

Cor looks to the side, “I remember your room, your dad, Clarus and...the crystal.”

Regis fought back a grin; all those memories. It had been a late night when the Prince snuck Cor in to see the beating heart of Lucis. Oh, how his eyes took in the awe that few will ever live to see. Up until then he can imagine the young soldier had only heard the stories.

The Prince cracks and lets a chuckle escape, “Do you remember her streets, our escapes on the Regalia? Running riot downtown with Clarus at our tail?”

Slowly Cor nods, still wondering what Regis was alluding to. “We were doing normal things, like everyone else.”

The excited laughter as they ran from an angry vendor, the huffing of Clarus trying to get them out of trouble, the look they gave each other in the thrill of life. “Being with you makes me feel normal, in such a good way.”

It's too much. “Your Highness...”

Regis pauses, he turns to Cor and grips his chest with urgency, his burning umber eyes make the young soldier nearly fearful. He has Cor's complete attention now. “If you had a choice, would you give all those memories away? Or turn back time and do it all again differently?”

Cor was fierce in his answer, “n-never!”

Regis presses, “I love...Lucis, my home, its my strength to keep fighting however I can, even when the odds are against me. If I don't, then it would be as if none of that had ever happened. Crushed and gone without a choice as if the stars had commanded it.”

With a contained sigh, Regis flops onto his back and rests his hands beneath his head, breathing evenly to recompose himself. He looks up at the stone roof above them. Cor lets out an audible breath he had held in, few things startle him but this was something altogether different.

The princes smile is quick to return “Perhaps there's a certain thrill in being the last hope of the nation - who knows, I may even win the war and be a legendary King in my lifetime. Now that would be something.”

Cor looks at Regis, studying his demeanour and the emotions that pass his face. He says nothing but simply shivers in the cold. Cor always had the grumpy look on his face, even after his Trial with Gilgamesh there was still some defiance that remained with him.

The Prince gives a long and exasperated sigh and lounges on his side, propping his head up as he eyes Cor. “Given by that silence, I know you're not convinced by such an answer. Why?”

The young soldier hesitates, wondering if he should even speak of it anymore. He nearly racks up the grass at his fingertips. “I'm _angry_.”

Regis blinks, “Angry, again? Why?”

“It's not fair that you have to do it alone. You're a man, not one of the Six. It's stupid that you have to do this alone.”

The Prince smiles and suddenly laughs, on any day Cor would have taken joy in seeing Regis smile. But this time the soldiers expression is sad and grim. Such a handsome, honest and beautiful soul condemned to the horrors of the Lucian war that have been waged for much too long. He hates it with his entire being.

“Well, the Astrals are a very big help...” His smile does fade, and they look at each other for the longest time, long enough for Regis to clear his throat and quell the unspeakable that grows between them.

“Man or not, I must do it. I can't fail, and I won't. It is my duty.”

Cor retorts, “I don't get it, to be royalty and have that task. It's silly, you should chose for yourself, not obligated to the faceless others in such a thankless fate.”

It's an interesting thing to hear, Regis has his interest piqued.

“Then why do you follow me into the danger? You've seen the horror...you know it better then me, after all.”

Cor opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Regis sees the hesitation clear as day, the way Cor's eyes shift away from him too quickly. The Prince comes a little closer to him.

“Were you obligated? Coerced? _Seduced_? Do you think I'll reward you in the end with money or fame, or something else entirely?”

Shocked, Cor shakes his head, taken aback by how close the Prince was to him. He can feel his warmth at his side and smell of faint cologne and grass on him. It was pleasant on the nose, and it leaves him red faced.

“With your Highness, it's different.”

The Prince quietly says, “Explain how it's different. I'm not weak, nor am I your superior...is it our friendship?”

“I wanna believe.”

The Prince pulls away, takes a moment to process what he just heard. He frowns, “Yet you think this endeavour is hopeless.”

The Prince examines Cor intently now, truly trying to figure out what it is that goes through Cor's mind.

“You...make me want to believe in this fight, and in you.”

Regis is speechless, he may have only known Cor for a short amount of time. But he wonders how he could ever have lived without him. Cor manages to push himself onto his side so he faces the Prince. They're so close they knock heads, but even so, Regis doesn't pull away from him again.

As if a whisper to a lover Cor continues, “maybe it's as you said, if I don't stand with you and protect your realm of peace, then no one will. I cannot stomach the thought of seeing you fall, or even being apart from you. I won't stop following you, even if I want to.”

Cor pursed his lips, unsure of even his own words. “Then...this must be what duty is.”

A shift in their heart and soul. Regis wanted to laugh at Cor, how could such an inquisitive and intelligent young man not understand the meaning of his own feelings? Perhaps that's why destiny bought them together.

Regis shakes his head, his voice laced thick with longing. “No, it isn't. This is different.”

Cor looks the Prince in the eyes and raises a questioning brow. They are so close, sharing one warmth as they lay together in peace. Regis suddenly pulls Cor closer, much to the others surprise. He wraps his arms around his solid waist and lovingly kisses him. It was so effortless to embrace as they had, and even remain as they were forever. Cor sighs, breathless, and holds him back tightly with no intention of ever letting go.

The chocobos chirp in their sleep and rain continues it's calming descent. Beneath the rock Cor and Regis rest and hold one another in their small world of peace.

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

The corridors of Insomnia's palace were filled with happy faces at the sight of Prince Noctis coming out of his room for the first time since the accident. The new arrangement was that the Prince would need to be ferried around in a wheelchair from then onward, Regis took charge of it himself. Noctis did his best to smile at nearly everyone who came to see him, even though his grief is clear. Regis gently touches his shoulder in reassurance.

Quickly, he frees his son from prying eyes and into the dining room for morning breakfast. The dining room is white and pristine when they arrive, it's a vastly different one to which they normally dine at. Much smaller and cosier, on the far wall was a large ceiling high window with a view of the city, on the other was a mounted flat screen television playing the typical morning news. No one was there besides a single smiling waiter that sets the array of cutlery for them both, he quickly disappears into the kitchen. The swinging doors bring with it the familiar aroma of pancakes, and it excites the little prince.

“I had them prepare your favourite,” says Regis.

Noctis gives a half smile that soon fades. The King understood; they were Aulea's favourite, too. Breakfast as a whole family had been rare, so much so they all remember each one that happened. The big spreads, the smiling faces, a time long past.

The King steels himself and takes the napkins set on the small marble table and carefully tucks them into his son's shirt. It's a thick finicky material, but he finally manages to get it to rest on his sons chests without falling. It was an amusing sight, the napkin appeared more like a bib. A small reminder of the blissful happy days following Noctis' birth – when they were all still whole.

Noctis studies him thoughtfully. Ah. Regis never did his napkin before, or even eat breakfast with him like this, seated close together at a smaller table. The King could but kiss his son on the forehead. Only his action can ever truly atone for the constant absence in their families life, this would just be one promised step in many. Noctis let himself lean at his fathers side, he says nothing, there is comfort in simply leaning.

Emerging from the kitchen was a new waiter pushing a small trolley topped with three plates of pancakes with butter and a side of syrups, drinks and colourful fruit.

Noctis' eyes lit up at who carried them, “Ignis!”

The young boy smiles as he wheels over to them. “You are well your Highness. I will be joining you as requested by His Majesty.”

Noctis turns to his father with a smile on his face, and Regis nods.

The son of Scientia was a bright one, and thankfully they got along rather well. His son on occasion had a dismissive demeanor that would be off putting to many, but not to the likes of Ignis. The boy sat in front of Noctis, and soon enough they began to chatter like nothing had happened. It was good to keep them busy, keep Noctis' mind filled with good things.

Regis had just about raised his fork when a frantic knocking disrupted their reverie. In some ways he wasn't surprised, on the other hand he was, but he finds Clarus at the other side of the door looking as if he were ready to go to war with the next man that crossed him.

“Clarus?”

It takes the councilmen a moment to see that he was speaking to a very different man. “Your Majesty, you are here?”

“As opposed to elsewhere? Come in.” Regis just leaves the door and makes for the coffee prepared for him at the table.

Clarus greets the Prince and Ignis, pleased to see he is recovering well before allowing the boys to continue their catch up.

Exasperated Regis says, “Clarus I know, as soon as I am finished here I will convene the council.”

Clarus straightens his back. “They are ready now.”

“Excuse me?” Regis pauses mid sip.

“The council convened as soon as we heard the news. Your arrival is all that is left. We simply cannot wait longer.”

With a sigh, Regis sets down his cup and looks over at his son. “Is it so urgent that I must leave my son so soon?”

Regis is quick to realise Clarus is staring at the television, he pointedly looks at Regis. “I'm afraid, it cannot wait.”

The sound coming from it is low and muffled, more for filing the silence than entertainment. But Regis manages to find the buttons behind the panel to turn it just loud enough to hear. It was the morning news, red letter rush across the bottom of the screen as they bring forth something truly alarming. The female anchor looks grave as she reads out the details.

“ _-numerous soldiers of Insomnia origin have been seen fighting in the sands of Leide against what is now confirmed to be a hoard of Empire machinery. Residents of nearby towns were lucky enough to flee from the fierce and brutal fighting that had spilled from military ground to the heart of the town square. Survivors say they owe their lives to the initial evacuation efforts carried out by these soldiers, many of which have fallen victim to the Empire- ”_

The report was soon followed by interviews at the scene with the towns people. Blurry stills of what looked like monstrous Niflheim technology and Daemons slowly passed by in the background – Regis goes cold as one took an uncanny resemblance to a particular General, the murk purple tail and the hint of rough grey surface on molten armour. They talk of the fire, the screaming, the panic. They thank the Crown City for such swift action that had surely saved so many lives.

Regis turned to Clarus, torn between outrage and sheer relief. “I did not sanction such an action!”

“You did not.” Clarus said a matter of factly.

“Old friend, what has occurred in my absence?”

“Come with me.”

Regis doesn't hesitate, he quickly goes over to his son. To his surprise, Noctis and Ignis are quiet. Noctis had his eyes glued to the television the whole time, a look of terror on his face.

“Dad, those things...” he looks so afraid that he couldn't face his father, he begins rocking back and forth, anxious, “...what the thing did to mum. It's not coming back is it? You're going to stop it, right?”

Regis gets right down on his knee beside him. He runs his hand through those black strands of silk and holds him steady, he will wipe that fear from his face no matter what. “That thing will never harm anyone ever again. Will you forgive your father if he leaves now to make sure of it?”

Noctis just lunges forward and hugs him. “Ok...”

“I will look after him for the day, your Majesty. I can protect him, trust me.” says Ignis, looking much too determined for his age.

With that he leaves the boys to themselves.

“Clarus, show me what the damage is.”

  
  


  
  


~~~  
  
  


It was a good feeling to be able to push open those doors for himself. The air was clean and the hall was open and bright as he entered, the long dark table surrounded by the ornaments of high lucian walls welcoming back its King. But the moment of familiarity and sweet nostalgia lasted mere seconds as he was soon overcome by a lot of shouting.

Arguing is what it was. The council were clearly unhappy with one another, for whatever reason Regis could only guess. But he breathes deeply and faces the anarchy. Taking his high seat at the end of the table the room goes into a stunned silence.

“Your Majesty has returned...”

“Your Majesty?”

“Thank the Goddess...”

The King takes the chance to get comfortable in his seat. He starts off, “Please forgive my absence, councillors. I must thank you for the effective running of the state while I was unable. Now please, can someone shed light on the recent events and why we are at war with each other?”

It started as rumour, strange sightings, daemon activity, all reaching the crescendo of a rural towns massacre. It is official, Niflheim machines and daemons from the empire are now on the prowl to the city, and yet no magitek troops, no clear order - just a lone hoard and a shadow of a maybe General. In its troubling wake insubordination, missing military personnel and a lot of finger pointing. To make matters worse, the Queen of Tenebrae along with her children, had just entered Lucis intent on seeing to the health of Noctis.

The King drums his fingers on the arm rest. One at a time.

“And these 'soldiers of Insomnia', who are they? They cannot be mere hunters from the capital.”

There was a low murmur amongst them before one councilmen bitterly says, “your Majesty, that is a question for the likes of Amacitia. We too, are waiting for clarity.”

“Councillor?”

The councilmen doesn't shy away from the sudden shift in attention. “It is correct, the soldiers seen fighting in Leide were indeed formed and sent on their duty, by me.”

The King then says with a heavy heart, “these tools of the Empire, they are still marching through the countryside. I am to assume the attempt to stop them has failed?”

Clarus nods, “I have...received no word from the team. If the early report is to be believed, then there is nothing more to say.” Regis didn't catch the way Clarus glances at him.

Bless those soldiers that fell protecting the citizens of Lucis when he himself should have seen to it.

“This is my command; prepare three regiments of a few hundred soldiers, crownsguard and glaive. One shall escort Queen Sylva safely through the countryside, the other will patrol the border and investigate how these things escaped detection. The third will engage and dispatch of Niflheims trouble, herd them past the main Highway and ambush from the cliffside. We will have the higher ground advantage of the natural rock formations there.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” they say in unison.

After a few moments thought, Regis says, “I want Leonis at the head of this charge, alongside Tulius and Bell to oversee it's smooth operation.”

From the long table another voice speaks, “that is no longer possible, your Grace.”

Regis frowns, taken aback.

Clarus tries to interject quickly, “your Majesty, I'm sorry, but-”

A harsher voice cuts him off. “It is as we said, your absence has inspired disobedience by not only the most loyal of council, but of the Marshal as well. It is he that voluntarily led this covert team into the dawn.”

The King is near motionless as he turns the thought in his head many times over. The soldiers that had perished in the fight...but it can't be true. It simply can't. If the battle had failed than the Marshal is waiting for the right time to strike or is out there somewhere clinging to life. Regis grits his teeth. To perish in the middle of nowhere was never his destiny - no, his Immortal will never fall.

“Your Grace...” came Clarus' hushed whisper.

Regis announces, “I will leave it to you to appoint the next suitable person capable of leading the charge. I want the army on the move by the middle of the day.”

In the midst of new chaos Regis stood up, and left.  
  
  


~~~  
  
  


He needed to get out of there quick. The King rushed down the hall and towards his throne room that lay dormant, awaiting the day he would return and reclaim his place. Regis does just that, he sends word for one person in particular before he lingers halfway up the stairs, not quite reaching his regal seat just yet.

It isn't long before the summoned awaits, his arrival is announced to the King, and the doors open wide. Regis suppressed the sudden disquiet he felt when Titus Drautos walked in. The Captain no longer wore his uniform, he simply looks the part of a well dressed soldier that stops at the foot of the stairs and gets on one knee, head bowed to address the King. He sports a few new scars on his bare arms, none of which Regis thought much of.

“Forgive my improperness your Majesty. The Glaive has been impounded in HQ and I'm suspended from my post until further notice. Your summons has surprised me.”

“Many things have occurred in my absence, and I thank you for your patience, Captain.”

“Of course. How may I assist my King?”

Regis remains in place, carefully watching the kneeling man. The stir becomes a little louder in his mind. “What hand did you have in the Marshals departure?”

He did not even flinch, the King gave him credit for that at least. “The Marshal left on his own will, all to ensure his Majesties victory. I simply gave him what manpower he needed.”

The King slowly walked up the stairs in lone contemplation.

So, Cor left on his own. A dark cloud of concern looms ahead; he had to have left shortly after their clash.

“I understand.” He says. As he looks at the captain, he ponders what it was Cor had seen in him. Regis could not even imagine the man offering half of what Cor needed. Then again, neither could the King himself.

He was ashamed at the bitter jealousy rising in his throat; he wants to burn that particular memory to ash. The warm lights of the corridor, the half open glass doors of the training room foyer, the smell of polished wooden floors, and an unluckly glimpse at the lined mirrors in the sparing hall.

The Marshal and the Captain beneath sickly bright lights. Regis swallowed it down like a very bitter pill.

Calmly, “I have a task for you. It would be in our best interest to mobilise your Glaive and join the departing army. Make locating the Marshal top priority. Ensure his well being, or the safe transport of his remains...whichever come first.”

“As you command, your Majesty,” he says without hesitation.

“The Marshal is now in good hands. Go immediately.”

Titus is silent, suddenly looking up and searching the King for some form explanation. Whatever he saw compelled Drautos to leave with haste, the King was once more alone to tend to his thoughts.

The hours following are busy, it gave the palace a breath of life with commanders and councilmen relaying information back and forth. It was the most time Regis had ever spent sitting on his throne and attending to the workload that seemed endless, delegate after representative after citizen came and went from the throne room. The fear in their voices is audible as they beg the King to consider their fates and fortune. Regis placed all his focus on fixing what is left, and dared not ponder the fate of his Marshal. He knows he is alive, he can feel it in his bones.

By the midday, Regis receives word by a messenger running into the throne room. The lucian army's three regiments are ready to move on order.

King Regis finally gives his command.

  
  


~~~  
~~~  
~~~  
  
  
  


The early dawn was gorgeous, and the birds begin to sing as the first signs of life creep back into the busy city of Insomnia. It was the picture perfect image of a peaceful city and a peaceful life.

It was good news. The battle had been won, the regions townspeople were safe to roam freely once more. Survivors, both soldiers and townsfolk were even found hiding out in the ruins of Fort Leide, and communications with the area were back up again. Many who were thought dead were found clinging to life by aid workers sent from the crown city in the hours following. Their stories featured on the news for days, how a stray group of eleven soldiers managed to save them all.

From a distance, a convoy of the first trucks driving down the empty highway could be seen from the open garage of the city's main barracks. The King stood there high up on the gantry with many others, waiting for the first soldiers to arrive home from victory. He couldn't keep still, he wrung his hands, paced, and constantly glanced down the road, hardly standing to wait so long.

The low hum of engines soon fill the high roofed garage, and the convoy make their final stop in the barracks. The atmosphere is lively as the first emerged, looking dirty, weary, yet relieved to be on home soil. By the shock in their faces, none expected the King himself to be there to greet them all, and they all bowed in his presence. Regis is quick to wave them off, letting the business of the garage resume as items were unloaded and wounded were swept away by the ambulances. Regis patiently waits with his escort, watching and searching each man and woman that left the resting convoy.

Cor doesn't emerge.

The King breathes in deeply, and begins to roam, searching the moving bodies and those that looked remotely recognisable. But he is surrounded by faces he does not truly know, and his heart sinks. He needs him. He needs to see him again.

There is one last truck that finally rolls into the garage towards the far end a distance away. Regis is quick to move past the bodies in his way. Emerging were a few figures he recognised, the uniform was dark and distinctly Glaive. But yet again, no one else emerges, Cor is not there. Regis approaches the two at the lead of the convoy.

“Your Majesty!” Their hoods are drawn back, and there was no mistaken the sheer surprise in their eyes as they suddenly fall to their knees and bowed.

“I expect you have news for me.”

They quickly jump back up, “Y-yes your Majesty! It is as you heard before. The battle is won, we have taken charge in the countryside, aid has reached Leide-”

Regis stands firm and prepares himself. “No. The task your Captain had assigned you.”

The young man goes silent, “Ah, yes.”

They look at one another hesitantly. “Your Majesty, the Marshal...he was not fit enough to make the trip-”

A desperation gripped Regis, the thought that he took action much too late. “What happened?!”

“He is in a coma in the medical centre south of Duscae. He took one hell of a beating from something, so the doctors didn't want to move him before surgery. We have the place under Glaive protection in the meantime.”

There were many things better than death. Regis tells himself, even as he pictures the Marshal on his bed, bleeding and unmoving, dead eyes staring back at him.

Cor...

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

~~~ DAYS LATER ~~~

 

Being pinned beneath a collapsed watch tower had to have been one of the more horrific experiences Cor's had to date. The constant agony of metal shredding his insides, the loss of his blood to the soaked dirt beneath, the unforgiving frost of lucian winter.

There was time aplenty to ponder the prelude to the worst night of his life. Though there was not much that came before the heap of sheet iron and steel cables that fell onto him.  Only the glowing phantom of a lone Glauca descending upon them through the blazing fire, as if in his way, disconnecting himself from the carnage of broken AI machines and daemons.

The ten brave soldiers that fought with the Marshal stood no chance as they were cut down all too soon. Only Cor remained. Blow for thunderous blow the General and Marshal were well matched, a feat few had ever came close to accomplishing.

It wasn't Glauca that would finish him off. It was Cor simply forgetting to look up.

That night when he opened his eyes again to the black sky, there was silence. The distinct scent of blood, burnt wood and ash assaulting his senses, his vision foggy with his own dry eyes. Then he felt it; his body burning in agony, caught right in the tangle of steel cables and poles spearing through his sides in many directions, it was shock that kept him from voicing his pain.

_“Marshal.”_

The array of molten armour stood in front of him. Calmed, holding his blade and studying the wreck that was the Immortal lying on his back and looking up with nothing but defiance.

Cor moved to grab his blade on reflex, only to find he couldn't move an inch. Breathing was near impossible, he was seeing double and his head hung weightless.

_“For what, Immortal? Honour, your homeland, or the blind love for your Chains?”_

Cor had stopped trying to free himself, fighting against the urge to scream; he burned. The image of Glauca stood over him, clouded in smoke as the fires raged on. Patiently he waited for an answer. The Marshal finally let the shred of fear get to him.

His own word come out slurred. “For p-peace, Fo-or him.”

_“For the love of your King.”_

Cor let his grunt ring clear. Never had he heard the infamed General speak like this, so deep, the echo of which hides his true voice away.

“ _Your eyes see it, Immortal. Your King will lose this war on the love of his son. Ask yourself, what more is he willing to do? What will he willingly lose, given the choice?”_

Cor shakes his head helplessly. He knows, he knows it well...but still. Glauca doesn't understand his King at all. Perhaps he too is struggling to see it. Even if on this shred of mercy he has shown, some humanity is still there. Not just another butcher of the empire.

“I...know. But I s-still, believe. H-e, proved it...long ago. He does it, all – f-for us.”  

Cor nearly chokes out in a sob. Something in his body had shifted painfully, he didn't know what but it felt like it was pulling his very soul out. The Marshal begins to quiver when bright light spots his vision.

No. He can't die here, not now.

Glauca comes closer, pressing his greatsword into the dirt then kneeled before Cor. The Marshal grits his teeth, his heart pounds loudly in his ears. The General reaches out with one hand to hold the side of Cor's face, the Marshal was convinced he would be strangled to death. With the hard material against his face, the closeness of the General and his ensnaring presence, Cor could not fathom why he was still alive and being held in such a way.

He whispers, “why am I still, al-ive?”

_“Choose, Immortal; be free - now, of your pitiful chains. Serve your vowed cause of peace in full truth. Or die here, amongst all your regret.”_

What?

His very soul might as well have left his body. It was more than just a slap on the face or a kick in the gut. It was the greatest insult Cor would ever have upon his ears and it shook him to the very core. The Marshal trembled, nearly choking on his own rage. This pawn of the Empire was sparing him, showing him mercy, all for this.

The Marshal was in near hysterics, “Kill me, then! Dog of the Empire! Take your false mercy and leave! I will never align myself with you, I will fight, and I will remain when none other will!”

General Glauca silently removes himself, barely reacting to Cor at all. He then picks up his sword.

_“I do not pity the fate of an Immortal.”_

Then he was gone. Just like that without a hint or trace, General Glauca was gone. Hidden by smoke, night and moon Cor was left to die alone in a ghost town. His King couldn’t go on without him; yet it scared him shitless that this may be his final hours. He tried to move, to kick, to call out for anyone to help, but there was no one left to hear. It hurt to live, the scrap steel weighed down on his body crushing it further by the minute with each shift he made. In the end, he stopped.

As his blood drained and his will failed he recalls the relief he felt when Regis touched him, so gentle compared to the anguish he was feeling now. The simple times where they roamed the countryside together with Clarus and Cid, the wind through their hair and the grass at their feet. Weskhams home cooked meals and the open freedom of the stars above in their many camping trips. Regis had looked at him with _love_ , once.

Regis.

Regis was the only thing he thought about in those dark brutal hours. He did it all for him, always had, and always will. Those thoughts kept him anchored to Eos for a little longer.

Time passed at some unknown speed, eventually the night left him and the sun greeted him in all its scorching Leiden heat. Cor began to lose feeling with his chest wheezing out shallow breathes. Time truly was unfair; it was already sunset.

Silent tears left him unbidden.

It was nearly the end and Cor was completely overcome. The fissures gave way to the flood of emotion that wrecked him. So many regrets. So many things left unsaid and undone. They should have never parted in the way they did, even if there was little he could have done about it. The Marshals only solace being that for once, his King knows how he feels. It brought Cor even a little bit of peace. Dying suddenly didn't seem so pointless now.

Then the weight, the pain, all of it suddenly lifted altogether.

He heard them talk, strange voices in that weightless void that trapped him between wakefulness and sleep. Perhaps it was to calm her own nerves, but the young feminine chime kept speaking to him, even if Cor was barely conscious. Somehow the depths of his mind told him he has heard this voice somewhere before.

“-Glaive-”

“-Prince Noctis made it through his long sleep-”

“The King has sent out his army-”

“The monsters and machines were defeated-”

“-was my first mission-”

“-Duscae medical centre will-”

“-I think he misses you-”

 She told him everything in silent fragmented whispers as her and many others took him through the foggy light. He would be forever grateful to this faceless woman. Her words kept him from drifting further and further into the warm embrace of the goddess; kind invisible strings that embraced him tight.

Open daylight.

Masked faces.

Spinning blades.

Blissful, heavy, drugged sleep.

 

~~~

It was strange how things changed after a few days away from the city, the palace, and all the memories that went with it. Cor found he could breathe easier and think better, even the cut on his lip soon faded in colour. A good few days of pure rest was the greatest mercy he had been given.

In the present stillness he stirred, trying not to trigger the delicate edges of stitches struggling to hold his very essence within him. He sighs, it was an agonising effort to turn his head.

Clinic beds were normally tough to sleep on, but what he felt was the most comforting thing in days, like goose feathered pillows. The incense was familiar, and the room warm and much too silent for a humble countryside medical practice. He opens his eyes, no longer in the small building at Duscae. Too lavish, too soft, too private and familiar.

A single glance out the window revealed the most surprising answer. He's back in the palace at Insomnia in an overtly lavish room. To a far corner was some form of complex monitor he assumed was strapped to him some time ago, the large machine now neatly stored away. The tall trolley lining the side wall carried an array of medical equipment neatly set out on silver trays, clean pristine and waiting. The bedside table on his left housed an assortment of pills, healing draughts and water, the one to his right was decorated to the edge with cards and the odd flower in a vase. A few paces away was an ornate wooden desk, papers, and random stationary, the larger of cards and well wishes kept to one corner. It was very much a guest room turned hospital ward.

He looks at his naked self beneath thin sheets and tentatively touches all the bandages wrapped around his torso, legs and shoulder. Small patches of blood seeped through, yet nothing too alarming for once. No evidence remained of how he became a human pin cushion.

“Cor.”

The close voice startled him and Cor looked right up into umber eyes that watched with reservation. Regis sat cross legged on a chair in the far right corner of the room, the light has returned to his eyes and he is very well dressed to have simply been sitting there in wait. Cor doesn't know how to answer but stare right back at the King; he was here, flesh and bone. None of the resignation, anger or hurt returned to him, Cor only dropped his shoulders in relief to see him there again. The elation made his head pound.

“Your Majesty...why am I here?” Cor suddenly says, he did not have the heart to look him in the eye for long. 

The King gets up and settles near the foot of the bed, back turned to the Marshal. He was much too far away. 

“You were found on the brink of death and taken to Duscae for surgery. They almost lost you there. I had you brought here for the second round of surgery you needed. You stood a better chance with the best the city could offer. And now, here we are.”

Cor takes it all in, he can see the peaks of Insomnia from the windows and the very distant ocean and sun. They were at least on the last few floors to the skydeck, so close to where the royal family had their personal quarters. From the heavy ache in his head he could only imagine how many regeneration draughts it took to close the many holes that were left in him.

The best the city could offer. Blue eyes dare to flicker over to the King.

“I got real lucky.”

The King looks to the wall and then the floor, hands clasped together, “yes.”

Cor knew it well. He shouldn't be alive right now. “This is too much, thank you your Maje-”

A single breath sent needles down his right side and he clutched his waist, wincing in shock

“If you are in pain Marshal, I will call for the nurse to administer another dose.”

Cor slowly shakes his head, “It's, it's nothing.”

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Whatever it is I will have it sent for you.”

Cor's stomach felt sore than it did craving food. But he shakes his head, “I am in need of nothing. You need not trouble yourself further.”

He looks over to the full glass beside him and musters up the strength to reach for it with a wary arm. Regis is quick to meet him halfway, snatching the glass.

“Lean back,” says Regis. Cor hesitantly obeys, not trusting his own grip either way. The smooth glassy edge is brought to his lips and Regis carefully tips it. A wash of cool water rushes down his throat and Cor sighs with satisfaction, feeling so at ease. 

Suddenly, “do you wish to be alone?”

Cor pondered the question, then quietly he says, “no.”

Regis sets the glass down. He doesn't leave and Cor let's him stay. They sit in short silence listening to one another breath as comfort on its own. Neither seemed to know how to proceed being within an arms length of each other after having spent worlds apart.

Bracing himself Cor breaks the silence. “I suppose now seems a good time as any to bring you a formal report, your Majesty.”

Regis smiles to himself and let loose a small chuckle. “Proceed, Marshal.”

The easy sound brought a small smile to the Marshals face. “The evacuation was a success, Knox is now safe from further harm. We got everyone out before we were hit. But my team did not make it, only I survived. I'm sorry I was unable to defeat our enemy, or even the General himself.”

The King nods once. “You have served me well, far beyond what is expected of you. I am pleased.”

Cors voice drops an octave, “I am glad.”

Regis breathes in sharply through his nose and stands right up, he moves only a few steps closer.

“May I?”

 “Of course.”

The King settles closer to the man and wastes no time. “Cor, I am glad you are still here both in body and spirit. None other than you remained at my side longer then I deserved. It is difficult to reconcile all that transpired since the accident, even so I was unfair with you.”

Oh, the sweet swell of Cors heart just hearing him lay it all bare. “I made a vow, didn't I?”

“You went beyond your duty, you didn’t need to.” The tightness at Regis' jaw was subtle, near mistakable. He starts again, low and careful. “Which is why we should speak of what occurred between us many nights ago.” 

Cor opened his mouth to protest, instead he stops and swallows the sudden lump that grew in his throat. That night had forced them to be honest with each other. It ruined them and it ruined _everything_.

Suddenly the warmth dissipates, and his good feeling comes reeling back into the armour Cor had built for himself. It constricts so tightly his chest felt like it would collapse inwards. “Your Majesty, there’s no point in dwelling on it. I’ve already moved on from it”

Regis' attention picks up, he turns to the man. “I said things to you that night, things that were-”

He snaps, “there's nothing left to say...your Majesty. It's fine.”

The King betrays a hint of concern with a tight knit brow. Cor found it hard to look at him now. After everything they had done and said to one another, now he wanted to bring such a memory back to the open bleeding surface. Suddenly, talking about what started it all was now far from what Cor wanted.

The wounds were just too raw to face.

“I must know, does your reticence have anything to do with the Captain?”

Cor stutters at first, and the thought occurs to him. The King knows. He knows what happened. Why else would he ask?

“I-It's-” His head pounds harder like the trouble in his heart, he turns away in utter shame, unable to stand the Kings confronting eyes. He’d been vulnerable, and Drautos did nothing but offer him a healing balm; he is a good man.

Regis silently reaches out and leans forward, holding the side of Cors face and closes in. Cor could see it happening a mile away but had no will to stop it, he wants it so badly he could barely believe it was happening until their lips finally reunited. A chaste kiss, the first one since it all began. Regis was so soft and forgiving against Cors own dry and parched set. Cor never thought he'd feel such a painfully sweet thing again, they say it all with a single touch of their lips. Light, gentle and delicate.

They sigh as they part too soon, whatever connection binding them breaking as easily as a twig in the harsh breeze. With a grunt, Cor holds onto the wound on his side once more, breathless. It hurts and so does his heart. “We shouldn't.”

“Cor, before you left my side you were honest with me. I know it was no lie. Why now, are you turning away from it?”

“I wish I could take it back.”

Regis slowly withdraws his hand. “Why?”

“I cannot love you, your Majesty. I don't want this affection with me.”

It came as a complete shock to the King. Cor can feel him search his face for some sort of answer, an answer Cor was refusing to give. Regis rests a hand on the others knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Then I'm sorry, I beg your forgiveness for everything; the confusion of our night together, striking you without reason, whatever uncertainty I have wrought. The fault is mine.”

“It's not your apology I want your Majesty. You're always forgiven.” It was the worst thing hearing Regis beg. King's should never beg.

“Then what? How can I mend the bond between us and earn you back?”

Cor shuts his eyes momentarily, his throat constricts.  

“Regis, you will always have my loyalty and my friendship. I will never leave your side. But let it go back to how it was. Forget everything and just continue onward.”

“That's everything we shouldn't do!” Regis looked at him, incredulous.

Looking at Regis now, Cor felt his pain. It was the last thing he wanted to do too.

“It's what I want.”

Regis clenches the sheets beneath his hand, he borders on frustration just watching the stubbornness in the Marshal rule him. “No, it isn't. By the Goddess Cor I'm a widower, I cannot give you my love or even speak of it now, but know that I need you. You are- please, just wait for me. You will have my heart in time, I promise you. But not now, I still need time to-”

“Shut up! Just, say no more!”

The King was taken aback, wondering whether he heard him correctly.

Cors hands balled up into knuckle white fists, the anger in him as clear as his tightened brow. The floodgates have truly broken.

“You have no idea what it’s like, waiting when you know you shouldn’t. I made my peace with everything long ago – so don’t promise me any more.”

The air was heavy, Regis kept his tone calm and steady. Cor hadn’t been this angry since he failed his Trial.  “Take it easy, I am only trying to make this easier for us.”

Cor retorted, “did you know what the Queen said to me, before she fell pregnant?”

The King sat still. So still that Cor feared he may have incurred his wrath once more with the simple mention of the Queen again, it was the last thing he had expected Cor to bring up now.

“She…she spoke to you?”

Deep and even breathes Cor took as he recalled her slender frame stopping in front of him. The sway of her straight perfect hair, neatly pressed and perfumed day dress, the slight downturn of full lips and timid eyes looking anywhere but at him. The Marshal took pity on her, perhaps their marriage wasn’t as perfect as it first seemed.

“She begged me.”

She had wavered, on the verge of tears. Yet she raised her head and stuck out her chin just as any proud queen would, demanding what she wanted, knowing there would be no resistance.

“She…” Cor faltered, “she begged me to give you back to her, for the sake of the future heir. We spent so much time together and she resented me for it – even when she had another man, she loved you more. Always did.”

Regis looked past Cor, staring at some unseen distance as he thinks. “Is that why you never let me touch you, for so long?”

“You’re a married man, even if you were husband and wife by name alone; it felt very wrong to me.”

The urge came to correct the Marshal; _was_ , a married man. But he wasn’t wrong, after all the ring of the Lucii was still on his finger after everything that had been done and said. Regis pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “I never knew, I swear by it. Aulea had her space and you had me, we all possessed what we wanted most.”

Cor lightly pursed his lips in guilt. “It’s not your fault. Things just changed.”

“They only changed after Noctis was born. You understand why.”

Noctis caused Cors world to come to a rapid halt. An affair was one thing but the future heir and his upbringing was a whole new deal. Cor had no choice but to remember his vows and fade into the background for the sake of the family’s happiness. Somewhere along the Marshal absence, the King and Queen became husband and wife in more than just name. Cor could only watch their bond grow in the years following – they became the perfect family.  

Cor murmurs, “Yes; when you fell in love with her, too. So forgive me if I’m unable to accept you as anything more than my King. Loving you has ruined so much.”

Regis doesn’t deny it. “It ruined you the most.”

Cor starred out the window, helpless against the past that came flooding back. What a scandal those years had been, secret lovers, lies and jealousy, then a baby to finally cause everything to come to a shattering end. They never picked up the pieces, just brushed it under the rug pretending everything is ok.

The Kings shoulders slowly dropped, letting out the longest sigh.

“I am at a loss. Here I am assuming we could try to fix things, seems I’ve already lost you.”

Cor reaches out and holds his hand. “I'm still here, you’ll always have me at your side. That should be more than enough for a King.”

Regis looks down at Cor's hand and locks their fingers together. He holds on so tightly that he wouldn't let go until the Marshal gently pries him away. Regis swallows, and caresses the other mans cheek. He leans in to feel the Marshals lips on his own just once more.

Placing his hand over the Kings lips Cor whispers, “don't.”

He couldn't face the pain in Regis' eyes, instead he felt the tenderness in the Kings touch as Regis settled to kiss the other mans fingers, his knuckles, his wrist, and the smooth skin of his palm. There would be no turning back from sending this powerful of a message.

“Marshal, you must tell me. If not what I have done, if not what I can give, why are you doing this now?”

Cor lets out a sharp breath. “It's easier then loving you.”

Slowly Regis shakes his head as the dawn of realisation arrives. “You were never the calibre of man to fear anything, even death.”

It's not irrational to fear love. It nearly drove him sick, nearly brought him to his death when it wasn't his time. If love can break a sword – Cors very soul and existence, then he will be rid of it entirely for a chance to be with him a moment longer.

“Your Majesty, I wish to be alone.”

The King finally got the message loud and clear. He says no more. Regis pulls himself away and slowly leaves for the door, Cor keeps his gaze fixed on the window, listening to the movements he makes and savouring each sound and the lingering scent of him before it leaves for good. The door creaks open.

“Kings are selfish, persistent creatures,” says Regis in silent promise.

The Marshal grips the sheets, the softness of the fabric and bright whites brings him no comfort. Doubt begins to plague every feeling that came with Regis walking further and further away.

“And I'm a coward.”

Regis offers him a kind smile despite all else, “an odd match indeed.”

Cor doesn't respond, he patiently waits for the door to close behind him, leaving behind a stillness that makes him ill. He rests back onto the bed and closes his eyes not knowing whether this was the right choice. But it was the only one he was certain about. One day when the sun rises on a kingdom of peace then maybe, just maybe, they can try again.


	16. Chapter 16

The throne room was bright, and even if Cor couldn’t see it from his place on his knees he missed how heavy and cardinal the empty space was on his shoulders. He was but a small piece of a bigger part of a machine finally returning to where it belonged. To many, the attentive eyes and vast space above would have proven quite the intimidation, but for Cor there was nothing but relief to be there kneeling before the King.

“Thank you, Marshal. The Crown is pleased with your recent efforts in clearing the Northern sectors of corrupted daemons. You may rise, my Immortal.”

There he was. Regis seated on his throne so high above that Cor couldn’t hope to reach. The sun danced off the curved edges of his silver crown and his smile pure as it is warm. There was no hiding his pride or affection from anyone, to hell with them.

Cor had to look down and smile. The sight of his King so content in the here and now, made everything worthwhile.

Cor says, “all for you, your Majesty.” 

“You are dismissed.”

The Marshal bowed and stepped out into the seating area. He was the last to see the King before the afternoon visits began. With the day still young and fresh Cor takes off as quick as he can, short of running. It’s a long way around but he manages to catch the coat tails of the King and his escort as he leaves his duties for the moment.

“Your Majesty!”

The escort stops and Regis turns around, not a single silver hair fell out of place. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes tighten when he smiles in pleasant surprise. It’s an effort for him to move around these days but he does so with a lively spring in his step as he brings his black cane around, only slightly hunching over with his weight shifted on it.

Cor reaches out to hold his arm, the King stubbornly pulls it free.

He gruffs, “I’m old, not an invalid.”  

“Of course.”

Regis leaves his escort with a dismissive wave and silently walked on. Nothing is said, but Cor keeps pace with the Kings laboured steps. It’s just the two of them now, slowly walking side by side through sunny halls. The open balcony above the Lucian gardens awaited them at the passage end, Regis is quick to settle on one of the chairs at the small table made for two. He lets loose a deep sigh of relief, subtly gripping his knee before turning his attention to the afternoon tea and medicine spread on the table.

A weary Marshal leans on the balcony, looking beyond the city towards some distant horizon. He attempts to relax despite his return from duty; breathing deeply, shoulders loose and back slightly hunched with his arms resting on the iron railing. His world had come to a peaceful stillness until recently where the waters were once again disturbed, he does his best to fight off the more anxious thoughts that threaten to strike him again.

“Your medicine, your Majesty,” states the Marshal. He is being watched.

The pills are easy to swallow, and the King does it without any trouble at all. He is used to the foul taste as it passes, only vaguely masked by the bitterness of tea.

“You’ve been absent a long time, Marshal.”

“On your orders, your Majesty,” he counters.

The monarch rests his cup, “Your absence was felt all the same.”

The breeze of the afternoon was the only sound that responded. Cor remained in place hunched over the balcony, hanging his head in silent contemplation. Regis sits back, he runs his hand through his grey hair feeling the breeze pass by with him. The ache in his knees was quick to pass as the pills worked their relieving effects.

“Clarus tells me there is no changing my assignment next week.” Cor clasps his hands together.

“He is correct.”

Cor breathes out through his nose, eyes downcast. “Permission to speak boldly.”

Regis smiles. “Granted.”

“The arrangement unsettles me. The Glaive are strong but – it should be me there with you when you sign the peace treaty with Niflheim. If something goes wrong, if you’re separated, or if everything goes to hell, I can protect you better than any of them. I’m no use miles away from you, perched on the wall. Please, reassure me that this is the right thing to do – that it is your wish.”

The King nods once to himself, pensive. Ah, the small matter of next weeks security detail.

He starts, slow and deliberate. “There is no changing what has been set in motion, Marshal. I believe I am making the right decision for my son and for our future. Few see it but I am more certain now, then I have ever been before. Whatever comes next is destined, we will find our peace – so close it is I can feel it. Believe me. Besides, I do not walk into this without a few tricks up my own sleeve.”

Cor grimaces. “I don’t see it at all. Forgive me but my gut continues to tell me nothing good will come of this, but-”

“The dawn _will_ follow, of that I can promise you. We have been to hell and back and here we stand and will continue to, for many years.”

The Marshal pauses, swallowing the bitter pill. “Then I trust your decision.”

“Now, onto a less grim topic of conversation,” Regis motions to the empty chair beside him. Cor peeks over his shoulder. He doesn’t refuse, and lets his weight shift off his feet.

“My, what a view. It seems a lifetime ago since we stopped and admired it together.”

Cor manages a small smile. He looks ahead of him, the clear azure horizon, the flashing lights of Lucis and its endless maze of sky scrapers. The waves of the New Wall made the sky seem like an ocean, with not a hint of cloud above.

“Not that I cared much for the view, back then,” says Cor.

The King chuckles, “there were very few things you cared for a long time ago. Nevertheless, you possessed focus and unwavering determination. Do you remember when we first crossed paths?”

Cor looks at him inquisitively, wrapping his mind around the compliment. “How can I forget?”

“You were born a fighter, yet you wondered without purpose; that drew me to you. Perhaps I ended up borrowing a portion of your stubbornness, given where we are now. But you, most of all changed for the better, you’re a good man. Somewhere along our journey your strength became mine, and I, yours. I can never regret keeping you at my side, despite all that transpired.”

It wasn’t just a compliment. The words were like arrows, piercing the deepest parts of his heart and leaving marks as they fall. “I feel the same…”

“I hope our more recent years have given you better memories to look back on, it is one of the few things I can gift to you.”

Honesty, or a confession? He couldn’t know which. Now the question of ‘why?’ resurfaces. So many years tip toeing around one another when the word ‘love’ is so difficult to say. His emotions begin to collide and turn over like a hot sleepless night. He can’t accept this, whatever ‘this’ is.

Cor frowned in concern. “Regis?”

“Worry not, this old man likes to reminisce.” The King finishes the last of his tea and reaches for his black cane. Cor is quick off his seat, stopping him from moving any further.

“Why do you say such things to me now?”

He is the Marshal and the silver man before him is his King. They don’t share tender words with each other anymore. But fear has a way of making honest men, knowing something precious will slip through their fingertips.

The King grips his cane. “You simply need to know how much I value you. The concept of ‘us’ has caused friction many times before.”

The monarch brings his cane forward once more, attempting to stand. The King was going to leave, as if this was nothing but a nice chat about the days gone by.

Cor dropped to his knees, grasping the Kings good knee with a firm palm.

He begs. “Assign me to your guard next week. Let me be there. I will show you that there is nothing to fear.”

There was no taking Regis by surprise these days, somehow those umber eyes see through him. Then, he sees all.

The gentle King leans back, exasperated. He doesn’t miss all that was allowed to pass through Cors eyes, a special language they inadvertently adopted for each other.

“Restrain yourself Marshal. I have no fear. Simply head my words carefully.”

“I-I am.” He can’t.

“It is a simple wish to have you here at my side, it gives me strength. That is all this is, or do you search for more?”

Cor lets out a dry chuckle. The man lowers his head and rests it against the Kings knee, thinking it best to remove his hand, resting them modestly on his thighs. There was a warm fire deep in his belly that never truly burnt out.  “Are you sure you’re referring to the here and now?”

The corner of the Kings lips tighten. He snaps forward instantly, looking intently at the Marshal on his knees. He keeps his hand firmly on the cane standing right beside the man on his knees.

“There may be…such a similar memory. Do you recall, perhaps?”

Cors head picks up slightly, pensive. He knows. “It’s been years, your Majesty.”

Regis begins to idly tap his finger on the cane. “A decade…maybe more.”

Cor says quietly, “our past is in the past. It made us what we are now; better men. I take pride in what I have learned.”

“Such pride, yet we never spoke of it. What we did to each other.”

“The fault was mine. You’ve apologised many times over, my King. There is nothing more to say.” 

Regis lets out a long quiet breath. In the years since their conflict, he has relived each moment many times. Each memory revealed new truths, new thoughts, new conclusions. Some less rational then others. But nevertheless, he had reached the end of the road and exhausted all possibilities and alternate futures. There was just acceptance. There's no changing the past, only the future.

“Never doubt that I truly love you. For there was never a moment where I stopped,” says Regis.

The off-guard Marshal looks up. Shock does not bury itself beneath his skin, it finds no place for itself in him. A tender pain does instead, only a pang of it in the place that mattered most. Most of all, the relief was kind to him, consuming him slowly like a gently wave lapping at the edge of a sandy beach.

Cor knew.

Some small part of him somehow always knew. 

Yet such a smile the Marshal wore. So warm and free it prompts the King to lean forward, letting his cane rest against the chair. For the first time the old monarch sees the chance he’s waited on for years, an opening; small, brief, yet clear as day. Regis takes Cor by the arm bringing him up from his haunches. He bets with all the luck he has left.

Desire, deep and thick he murmurs, “come here.” 

It colours the Kings eyes, and the blue in the Marshals own glimmer like a watery surface. He takes a sharp breath as he is touched – a moments hesitation as years of self-oppression come down to one chance.

Cor snaps. He nearly leaps up to straddle the monarchs lap, much to the Kings pleasant surprise. A pleasurable groan escapes as they kiss. Hot, frantic and famished they were for one another, lips and tongue finding no rest as they meet again. Regis’ hands rest against the warmth of willing skin on Cor’s bare back, shirt and jacket straining beneath the presence. The Marshal sighs as fingertips press into tense, tight muscle, he shivers delightfully as he lets go and relaxes, his body follows suit.

He throws his arms around the Kings neck, unable to hold back kissing a smile into the loving man underneath him. Such elation and relief, he wants to remain this way. If this is all they were destined for, it is enough. More than enough. The monarch gently pulls away, giving them the much-needed space to breathe, neither of them wanted to wake up from the dream. Cor sighed and pressed his forehead against the Kings. If he had a choice now he’d never move again.

“I…overreacted. I’m sorry,” says the Marshal. He gingerly moves his long legs to step off the chair. Regis suddenly reaches out and pulls him back in, Cor’s eyes widen slightly.

“Just a moment longer; you and I.”

Cors cheeks flush as he readjusts onto the Kings lap, Regis had nothing but a beaming smile as he watched the Marshal shift over. Eventually the smile catches onto him too.

Cor starts, “Your leg. I’m too heavy”

“No.”  

There was no arguing with a stubborn man, no matter how awkward a position they were in. Cor let them be, relaxed together with the blessing of the afternoon sun. Quiet, peaceful and connected. Regis holds his love at the hips. The Marshal can see it in the easy way the King breathes, how lost in his own thoughts he suddenly became. The monarch shuts his eyes, feeling Cor closer to him than they ever had been. Heart to heart, skin to skin with their foreheads just touching. The closeness a greater intimacy than anything else.

The warmth of the moment is suddenly broken by the shrill ringing of a phone. It rings once, and then rings twice before the man removes himself gingerly from the chair, he straightens his jacket, no rush to pull the phone out and answer the call.

Inevitably, he answers. “Leonis. Yes, I can come by soon. No, no problem. I’ll be there.”

He hangs up and puts his phone away.

“A summons?”

The Marshal nods. “Forgive me your Majesty, duty calls.”

“Of course.”

Cor runs a hand through his hair, stalling for a few more seconds. What else can he say? Well, just another thing Cor will have to deal with later. The Marshal walks on.

The King calls, “Marshal.”

“Yes?”

His smile wins the man over everytime, he can never refuse. “Tonight, join me for dinner.”

Cor stops, raising a brow.

“Did I miss the arrival of political delegates? What’s the occasion?”

The King chuckles. “No, just you and me. If you will allow it.”

Cor swallows, reddening again. Just the two of them alone with nothing coming in between them. He knows better, something is prompting this session of honesty, something the King is unwilling to explain. Cor shakes his head, he gave up trying to figure it out. Regis had always been that way, always looking towards something else, something bigger, and leaving the ones who mattered most, behind. Not that the monarch ever meant it to hurt anyone. The Marshal loves his King regardless. He closes his eyes and he hears his words again.

_“The dawn will follow, of that I can promise you.”_

Come what may, no one can take this happiness from him anymore.

“Yes, I will join you for dinner.”

He takes a few more paces away from the balcony, stops abruptly and turns around again. At what point did they start feeling the same way, before or after the events in Tenebrae? Will they still hide what they are? More importantly, what will they become now or in future; why say such things now? So many answers he needed.

Breathless he says, “Your Maje- Regis…”

“Yes?”

Cor is not normally speechless but he found himself standing in wait, trying to think of a way to convey a thousand thoughts to the one man behind him. Maybe this was finally a turning point for them, an opportunity to catch up on all the moments they had lost. He catches his breath; it’s impatience, a deep need left unsatisfied for years. But things will change, he is sure of it. There will be time. Plenty of it, to reach that place of peace that seemed so impossible for them to grasp.

“Nothing. I’ll see you tonight.”

Cor smiles to himself. Almost as if they were finally together after all this time. Whatever is fated to come next, despite all his doubts and worries; he knows they will go on carrying their love for each other wherever they go, forever and always.

 

~~~~

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyk if u cri everytim.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this. Its been a wild ride from start to finish and I cant believe this has finally been completed through blood and tears D;;. Couldn't have done it without those of you in the fandom who live and breath the CorGis and believed in me. You made this possible. So kudos to you too. Expect a final epilogue style chapter to come later, but for now, this is where this story ends.
> 
> Adios!


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